


Handsome and Capable

by TheLynx, Vanny



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bodyswap, Disabled Character, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, M/M, Multi, Nonverbal Communication, Other, Polyamory, Suicide Attempt, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-26 17:51:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6249658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLynx/pseuds/TheLynx, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanny/pseuds/Vanny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taken to a Circle boarding school in fears that he may be a prime target for demons, Jack Amell has spent much of his life in isolation. Now that he has graduated and been flung out into the world, he can take his first few steps back into freedom, Jowan at his side. Finding a job is one of those first steps.</p><p>Killing an archdemon is another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic may feature heavy self-harm and eating disorder content.

The Skyline Cafe sits at the corner of two of the city of Skyhold's moderately busy streets, wedged comfortably between a small diner and a pharmacy. It has a little bit of competition with the Starlight Cafe the next block down, that one being a multinational corporation rather than local, and with a fancy Orlesian patisserie a few buildings over, but it manages with the clientele regardless, mostly those rushing to work or the number of regulars who like to sit back and relax (or play tabletops, some nights).

Today, business is slower than usual. The day is dark as night already, rain pouring down heavy on the street and sidewalks. The paper taped to the outside seeking new employees, while protected somewhat by an overhang, is beginning to wilt with the weight of the water. No doubt the threat of a flood has scared some people away, and it's already past the lunch hour.

The Iron Bull sits at a table with a large cup of coffee, sipping it as he watches the rain fall, sometimes looking back at the newspaper on the table. He's wearing a nice eyepatch over his left eye, black leather studded with dawnstone, but otherwise looks like the rest of the employees: khakis and a white shirt. Other than the horns, of course.

He's taken off the blue apron, but Dorian and Zevran, who are idly tending to the syrups and machines and counters as they chat quietly, have kept theirs on. Out of the corner of his eye he notes a tall, sturdy man walk past the window, wearing a dark and heavy raincoat with an equally dark umbrella.

Jack barely glances at the damp paper stuck to the window, being already aware of the opening. He walks in with what he hopes is relative confidence, iPad tucked under his arm and, thankfully, relatively dry. He hopes his hair—short, brown, and lightly gelled—hasn’t been mussed up by the weather, though a few strands stick to the pale skin of his forehead.

The Iron Bull, for whatever it's worth, is unmistakable. Also intimidating. Jack isn't a small man himself, but he can't help but hesitate, looking around the shop before approaching and knocking lightly on the table.

Bull sets down his mug and looks up at Jack, taking in his appearance. "Not here for the coffee?" he asks, face expressionless.

Jack swallows, and launches into his script (practiced hopefully in the mirror earlier in the day). "Hi. I'm Jack. I'm here about the opening."

Bull's mouth splits into a grin. "That's great. Would you like the interview out here or in the backroom?"

"…Backroom."

"Can do." Leaving the paper where it is, Bull stands, taking his mug with him. While Jack himself is a tall man, Bull is significantly taller and sturdier, almost towering over him. He heads back, holding the door open for Jack.

"Good luck," Dorian says, and Zevran gives him finger guns with a wink.

Jack reddens and quickly looks away from the two of them, following Bull into the back room, feeling suddenly justified in his decision to do so (they might be friendly now, but what about when they realize he speaks mainly through an iPad?).

Bull closes the door softly behind him, nodding at a table in the middle of the room. "Here, take a seat. Relax. I'm not here to give you a test."

Jack sits, waking his iPad and placing it across his lap, managing a smile. A few moments of tapping, and the computer generated voice says, "I mostly speak like this."

Bull doesn't seem phased. "I can work with that.” He’s not used to it, but he can adjust. He’s more interested in who this guy is.

Jack's shoulders relax noticeably, though he keeps his face neutral--professional. "It's a little slower, so register might not be a good place for me, but I'm a quick learner, and I'm good with machines."

"Dorian can speak enough for the rest of us, believe me. So long as you can make the coffee fast enough there's a spot for you.”

" I'm a mage," he adds, looking almost guilty; he's always been told that failing to mention mage-status is deceptive.

"You a felon?"

Jack shakes his head, eyes wide. "No!" he says aloud.

Bull chuckles, holding up a hand. "I take it by that reaction you haven't committed any violent crimes, either."

"No," Jack repeats, a bit more calmly. A little fighting in school, sure, but nothing that went on record. Nothing that should block him from getting this job.

"Can you read names out loud off of cups?"

He thinks about it and nods.

"Good. If you're ever having an off day, I'm sure someone else could cover that bit for you." Iron Bull pauses and thinks a minute. "Any vengeful exes, family members, or other undesirables I should be worried about? Oh, are you a necromancer?" he asks casually.

Jack stares for a moment, then types. "No. I'm a battle-mage."

That gets a raised eyebrow out of Bull. "Military?"

"Boarding school."

"They teach those things at the Circle now?"

"To some. It makes me a… reserve, sort of. So, if there's a war or a Blight or something, I might have to leave."

"So you're caught up with that if something should happen."

"Right."

Bull sits back up again, having leaned closer in the past few minutes. "What are your hours?"

"I have to have Sundays and Mondays off, everything else is free."

"You looking for full time or part time?"

"Maybe about…thirty hours?"

"Can do. Can you come in for training tomorrow?"

Jack suppresses a grin--can it really be that easy?--and nods eagerly. "Yes."

Bull stands, holding out his hand. "I'll see you tomorrow at 7, Jack...?"

"Amell." He shakes the offered hand firmly, though his palm is a little clammy.

"Amell. Nice to meet you." Bull grins. "Want a chat over coffee, or are you eager to run back out in that mess?"

"Not exactly eager," Jack admits. "iPad case is technically waterproof, but… I worry."

"I'll buy you a drink and you can meet your new coworkers," Bull offers.

"Okay. Thanks."

"Sure thing." He opens the door for Jack, following him back out with his coffee.

Dorian looks curiously at them out the corner of his eye, attempting to appear ambivalent and bored as he wipes down the counter. Zevran is busy fiddling about with one of the machines, and he has to hit it a couple times for it to start pumping out espresso. "Bull, I thought we were in the ninth Age already."

"You can pay for a new one yourself," Bull offers. He pats Jack's shoulder. "Make Jack a coffee, on me. He's got the job."

"Maker, finally," Dorian mumbles.

There's a patron in the store now, a skinny Dalish standing at the counter with a dripping raincoat. Their dark brown hair is soaking wet and they look absolutely miserable, casting a sidelong glance at Jack.

Jack reddens slightly as he sits at the counter, giving Dorian and Zevran a little wave. The other elf he quickly looks away from, uncomfortable with their discomfort.

"That's just Cyrnarel," Bull says. "He's a regular here." Cyrnarel stays still where they are, waiting on their coffee.

Dorian sighs and grabs a cup, flashing Jack a charming smile. "What drink would you like?"

Jack glances up at the board, settling on an option and carefully reading it out aloud. "Flat white, please."

"I'll fix one up for you." He turns around, dealing with another of the machines. "I'll start: what brings you out to this little shop in the middle of a storm?"

Jack sighs and sets his iPad in front of him, folding the cover so that it stands partially upright.

"You already know: I was looking for a job."

Dorian glances back at Jack's iPad. "There's far more job opportunities around here. Better ones."

Zevran tsks him. "You'll frighten him off like that."

"For someone like me?" Jack snorts.

Come now! You're handsome and capable, surely there's plenty," Zevran says. Dorian rolls his eyes--Bull _has_ asked them to tone down the flirting. "Not that this is a bad place to work. On sunny, beautiful days." He caps off the coffee and hands it to Cyrnarel, who grabs it and sits with Bull at the table he'd been at previously, paper lying atop it.

Jack freezes for a moment, reddening a little and looking down at his hands, almost afraid to reply.

"Don't mind him," Dorian says dismissively, nudging Zevran. "He's an insufferable flirt."

"Pot, kettle," Zevran mumbles.

"It's fine."

"Just tell him if he gets on your nerves," Bull says. "You been living here a while, Jack?"

Dorian plops a coffee mug on the counter in front of Jack.

"Not very long. About a month. I really just graduated the--just graduated."

"It's really a nice city when it's not raining," Dorian says.

"With all of your complaints?" Zevran asks. "'Nice' must be an insult in Tevene."

"It doesn't seem bad," Jack says, to Dorian. He's still processing the fact that he recognized the elf's words. They're written in a flourishing script on his shoulder blade; Jowan's read them out to him more than once.

"An optimist! Thank the Maker. You'll be a charm to work with."

"No job after graduation?" Zevran asks Jack.

"I didn't study a…generalized skill."

He sort of winces to himself once he's finished typing. What a dull thing to have tattooed on one's body.

Zevran stills for a moment. "Ah, a hard time finding suitable jobs, then. That's how we all got here, isn't it?"

"I own this place," Bull points out.

"Working at a cafe is not everyone's dream job," Dorian says dryly.

Then again, Jack thinks, maybe Zevran doesn't recognize the words at all. Jack is surprised by how disappointing the thought is; he'd always told himself it didn't matter. "Owning one can be, though."

"It is a very nice job," Bull says, a touch defensively.

"No customers on rainy afternoons," Cyrnarel says, looking out the window.

"I don't mind it," Jack says to no one in particular.

"You'll fit in fine," Bull says.

"It will be a mite busier tomorrow," Dorian says. "You're training tomorrow, right?"

Jack nods. "I probably shouldn't work register. Too slow." He indicates the iPad.

"That's alright. Customers like to see my lovely face, anyhow."

"Mahanon's not coming today," Cyrnarel announces, phone on the table in front of them. "Too rainy."

"He'll come later," Zevran says, glancing at Dorian with a grin.

"Zevran, please, we are in polite company. ...Oh, dear, we haven't even properly introduced ourselves." Dorian gives Jack a short bow. "I am Dorian Pavus, and this is Zevran Arainai. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

The Pavus name is somewhat well known for being involved in politics in Tevinter, but not quite a commonly known name, and it’s no surprise that Jack does not react to hearing it. "I'm Jack," he replies aloud. "Jack Amell."

"Good to meet you, Jack." Dorian holds his hand out across the counter. Jack shakes it, his smile only a little nervous. "Settling in alright, I take it?"

"It's okay so far."

Dorian nods. "There are worse places to be. You could be in Kirkwall." Kirkwall is only a couple hours' drive away, but is a decidedly more corrupt place, with a lot of conflict between mages forced into Circle boarding schools and the Templars, peacekeepers who specifically deal with nullifying magic.

"You ever been to Kirkwall, shem? Your name sounds familiar," Cyrnarel says, peering over at Jack.

Jack turns--he can't help but stare while he fumbles for his words. "I was born there."

"...oh." Cyrnarel turns away and picks up their coffee, drinking it a little quicker than they should.

Jack turns away too, looking a little shell-shocked. He's always been just a _little_ odd to begin with for having three tattoos, but _meeting_ two of them in one day is just… bizarre.

"I should go," Cyrnarel says, finishing their drink in record time. "Things to do. Chores. Shit like that."

"Don't want to stay and chat?" Bull asks.

"No," they say curtly, standing up. "Too rainy."

"Alright, kadan. Take care of yourself."

Jack's shoulders roll forward a little as they pass, and he reaches for his own coffee to steady himself. Once they're gone, Dorian raises an eyebrow at Bull, who just shakes his head a little bit. Best to leave that a mystery for now.

"I'm sure you'll find another time to meet Cyrnarel," Dorian says.

"And Mahanon," Zevran says.

"Even Sera's missing! We truly are devoid of elves today."

Zevran elbows Dorian, then leans back on a counter.

"Does Zevran not count?" The computer butchers the pronunciation, and Jack frowns, leaning over the screen for a moment to tweak it.

"He makes up only a quarter of our... well, extended cafe family's elven population, if you will. Makes the place feel rather... shemmy, as Cyrn would say."

"Oh." Jack shifts uncomfortably.

"I am touched that you consider me family," Zevran says.

"I will remember not to say so again in order to keep your emotions calm enough to work properly."

"So--how long has this place been open?" Jack asks.

"Six years now," Bull says. "Saw the lot was for sale, so I went for it. Seemed ambitious at the time, but I've made it work. Not a lot of people want to work for a qunari, though."

"Which is why you hire elves and mages and such?"

"The people who can't get hired elsewhere come here, if they're not too scared. Customers come in fine, it's working they have a problem with. Cyrnarel and Mahanon don't work here--it's just Dorian, Zev, and Sera. Those two are regulars."

"It doesn't seem very scary."

Bull laughs heartily at that. "Good! I don't often try to look scary. But the horns, and the eyepatch--they're intimidating."

"It's bedazzled,” Jack points out.

Bull laughs again. "You can thank Cyrn for that."

"It's...pretty."

"I _have_ always liked dawnstone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is an edited RP. Wording is tweaked, scenes are added, and so on and so forth. Characters may not always be in character or have the correct "voice."
> 
> Jack uses a text-to-speech app whenever he speaks more than a few words at once. This is not always clearly indicated by the text and should simply be assumed.
> 
> All characters and ships this fic is tagged with will be prominent. Others will also show up but those are the primary ones. The main characters of this fic are Jack and Cyrnarel and therefore most events will revolve around them.
> 
> Cyrnarel is marked male in some of the tags for purposes of making the fic findable. However, they are nonbinary.
> 
> You can follow us on tumblr as users [lynxeon](http://lynxeon.tumblr.com/) and [j4ckwynand](http://j4ckwynand.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 2

Later that evening, rain still falling just as hard, Jack receives a knock on the door to his apartment.

He’s settled in with a bowl of cereal and watching How It's Made (magical staves!) with the volume on low, but he unfolds himself from the sofa and goes to the door, peering through the peephole.

It's a very wet Zevran standing outside his door, looking a little anxious.

Jack, alarmed by his bedraggled appearance, jerks the door open, gesturing for him to come inside, as his iPad is lying on the coffee table, charging.

Zevran looks almost surprised he's being let in. "I apologize for tracking the rain into your apartment."

"Ummm," Jack hums. "Towel?"

"...Yes, that may be wise."

"Okay, towel." Jack disappears into the bathroom for a moment and comes out with a bath towel, both obviously new and obviously cheap. He hands it over, then goes for his iPad, pulling the charger out.

Zevran dries off his hair and pats himself down with the towel, hoping he at least looks handsomely disheveled and not just a mess. "So,” he says, having lost any prepared lines to the rain.

"What happened?" Jack asks.

"Pardon?"

"How did you get caught in the rain? Are you okay?"

"Oh! Do not worry about that. I am fine." Zevran waves a hand as if waving away Jack’s concern, smiling comfortably.

"Are you sure? You could catch cold."

"As I said, I am fine." Zevran drapes the towel neatly over the back of a chair. "As for 'how,' I came looking for you."

"Oh. Why?"

The lukewarm response makes Zevran hesitate. "Ah--perhaps I was mistaken."

"Just tell me, please?" Jack pleads, face displaying his concern.

"I... Well, ah. Your words." Zevran's a lot more nervous now than he was earlier. "That you said. Earlier."

Jack's eyes widen. " _Oh,_ " he says aloud.

"Yes. Do you...?"

"Yeah," he says, more softly. "It's on my back," he adds.

Excitement and relief wash over Zevran, though his anxiety also spikes. "I like to keep the location of my words secret, but I won't oppose if you're interested in exploring."

Jack reddens. "We've only just met."

"But we _have_ met." That's more than a few of Zevran’s hookups have been. "I will not push, do not worry. I thought we might want to... have a talk at least, yes?"

"Yes." Definitely talking is good.

"Shall we sit? Or--well, I am still a little damp--" And his boots are leaving a puddle on the floor.

"It's okay."

“I do hope I am not making a bad first impression."

"No." Jack smiles a little. "You really couldn't wait until it stopped raining? Work tomorrow?"

Zevran chuckles, sitting in a chair. "Saturdays are busy days, I do not think it would have been a good decision to discuss this during work."

"That's true." Jack glances at Zevran, then away, feeling suddenly shy.

"I hope I haven't interrupted anything."

"I was watching TV." He smiles bashfully. "They're showing how they make magic staffs."

"Fond of woodwork, are you?"

"Well, I'm a mage." A wary glance; this one always gets different responses, and usually bad ones.

"No judgment here,” Zevran says, waving his hand again. “Though I suppose that does bring something up. Perhaps. Depending."

"What is it?"

"Well, it... Well, would you be interested in a relationship at all?"

Jack flushes. "Well, yes. I mean I'm not _not_ interested."

"Yes. I do not want to rush you, but yes, I am also interested, but... Well, I am seeing somebody else already, and that can cause problems for some." The last bit comes out in a rush, Zevran fiddling with his hands as he says it.

"…oh." Jack nods, chews his lower lip. "I haven't had very many relationships. But I've got more than one set of words."

"Really?" While uncommon, it can happen.

Jack nods, sucking his teeth. "Three, total."

Zevran lets out a whistle. "Have you found either of the others?"

"I guess so, yeah."

"You guess?"

"Yeah.  I mean it was just--earlier today."

"You have found two of us in one day?"

Jack nods. "It's a lot."

"That certainly does sound like a lot. Did you travel across half the city in the rain or something? That's a marvelous amount of luck." It’s almost disappointing—Zevran does prefer not to only have half of someone’s heart, though he settles for it with Mahanon—but he himself has two sets of words and he would not want to miss out on either of them. Something to think on.

"It's stranger than that," Jack says.

"Oh?"

"Same time, same place."

Zevran raises an eyebrow. "Dorian?"

"No,” Jack says. “I don't know if I should say who. It might make things weird."

"It is already weird, I'm afraid. You've narrowed it down to two, and I have a very strong suspicion now."

"Well, who do you think?"

"Cyrnarel, considering the way he ran out. I would not have guessed had you not said anything. And I am well aware that Bull only has one set of words. He is, ah, rather not fond of wearing shirts. Still... Truly? Cyrnarel?"

Jack nods, wincing. "They didn't look too happy about it."

"I wouldn't take it personally. They have had a rough time as of late. More excitement is not what they need right now." He shrugs. "I did not think they had a second set of words. Just go slow, yes?"

"I won't even mention it if it's going to upset them," Jack says glumly.

"It would upset them more if you avoided them."

"Nnngh." Jack drags his hands back through his hair. "I just got here! Why does everything have to be so complicated?"

"Most people would find this sort of thing exciting."

"It's not exciting when someone _runs away_."

"Nerves, I tell you. They are overwhelmed. It is something time will fix."

"Well, maybe _I_ have nerves too."

"Which I am attempting to help." Zevran smiles reassuringly.

"I mean--no offense, but you're part of it." Jack manages a smile.

"None taken.” Zevran is rather used to being the cause of trouble. “I am willing to give you as much space as you need. Or as little space as you desire," he adds with a wink. "This is just a conversation I thought we might get over with. Messy little details, you know."

"Yeah…" Jack pulls his knees up, drawing his iPad into his lap with him so he can still talk. "It's… funny. If you'd have asked even a couple years ago, people would say things like… I'd never meet you, I'd be lucky not to live and die my whole life in some group home or Circle institution."

"That is where you graduated from, then?" Zevran asks softly.

Jack bites his lip. "Yeah. They took me when I was about five. Figured I was prime demon bait, on account of--well, acting funny. You know."

"I have never been fond of the Circles. They seem... restrictive. Isolating."

"That's kind of the point."

"I suppose it is."

"It's worse if you're different. Different even for a mage, I mean."

"People are not meant to live like that."

Jack nods and forces a little laugh. "Sorry. This is pretty heavy for our first talk."

"You have had an exciting day."

"It's.. weird to be out here alone. Well, not _alone_ , but… to have hour own place and stuff."

Zevran pauses. "'Our'?"

"My roommate, Jowan. He'll be home any minute now." A beat, then Jack grins. "He's gonna be so excited! We've been speculating about your gender for years--he always said it sounded like a guy thing to say."

Zevran chuckles. "I don't exactly recall what I said--what was it?"

Jack goes redder still. "That I'm handsome and capable."

Zevran snaps his fingers. "Ah, yes, that was it. I am beginning to feel proud of myself for that one."

"Better than mine. 'I just graduated.' Boring."

"'I didn't study a generalized skill,'" Zevran quotes, grinning.

"Ugh. I hate to think what my third's going to be."

"I rather fancied your comment would be about something sexual than graduation. Certainly made it more exciting to think about."

"Well. Sorry."

Zevran chuckles. "I am not disappointed. I've seen worse tattoos. What was the first thing you said to Cyrnarel? ...Not that that's necessarily worse."

"'I was born there.' In Kirkwall."

"At least it wasn't a coffee order or a pickup line."

"Small mercies,” Jack says. “Jowan's is a line from the Chant. It's a raw deal, he's heard it dozens of times. It could be almost anyone."

"I hope it's one of the better ones."

"It's not one of the worse ones, at least."

"Small mercies."

"Yeah." Jack leans back against the couch with a soft thump.

"I think I would like to stay and meet Jowan, if that's alright."

"Of course. He's like a brother to me. Hey, what about you? Who are you, where are you from?"

"I am from Antiva, if you could not tell by the accent. Antiva City, right on the sea."

"Did you go to school? Do you have parents? How did you end up working for the Iron Bull?" Jack asks, poking about for information.

"Never knew my father, mother is dead, no school but I am literate. Which should answer your last question as well."

"You don't like to talk about yourself," Jack guesses.

"On the contrary, I greatly enjoy talking about myself."

"I'm just not asking the right questions."

"I do not have a particularly cheerful past," Zevran says flatly. He pokes at a dent in the top of the kitchen table, feeling its ridges.

"I'm sorry."

"I do, however, love Antiva.” He looks back up at Jack. “The food, the coast, the atmosphere and culture of the city... It is good."

"But you're here."

"Refugee." He doesn't elaborate.

"Mm." Jack nods.

"The cafe pays well and it is a very nice job. I lucked out."

"Yeah. Me too."

"You barely even had an interview."

"I know. Either the Iron Bull has a good sense of character, or he's…really trusting. Stupid trusting."

"He doesn't trust you," Zevran says matter-of-factly. "He trusts the rest of us and he is going to keep an eye on you. He is going to be keeping a very, very close eye on you now that he knows you are Cyrnarel's soulmate."

"That's just what I need,” Jack groans. “More people keeping an _eye_ on me."

"He _is_ Cyrnarel's other soulmate."

"Yeah, I get it. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Naturally."

"Watched is all I've ever been." Jack sighs. Just one more headache to deal with.

"He will lay off of you soon enough. He is cautious, but not overprotective. Give it a month or so."

“Okay." Jack leans forward, head on his knees, tipped sideways looking at Zevran.

"You heard us talk a little about Mahanon earlier today, yes?” Zevran says. “He is my boyfriend. Redheaded Dalish. Very... forward."

"Is he your…?"

Zevran shakes his head. "No, he is not. I have not met my second yet."

"Do you love him?"

"That... certainly is a question." Not one Zevran was expecting, either.

"Yeah,” Jack says, eyes going wistful. “What happens when you love somebody, but they're not your perfect match? Do you leave them? Do you stay?"

"Those... are definitely questions."

 "I think about it a lot. I still don't know. Not everyone is built to love multiple people, you know. I mean--it doesn't bother me."

"Some people make it work."

"Yeah. Your hair is really pretty."

It's not often Zevran is caught off-guard by a compliment. "Oh. Erm. Thank you." He manages a grin in response. "You're not half bad yourself."

"It's like corn-silk."

"It is also fairly soft if you wanted to, say, run your fingers through it." Zevran waggles his eyebrows.

"Can I?"

That's a bit unexpected. "Of course."

Jack reaches out, carefully taking a lock of hair between his fingers and running them down its length. He smiles; it’s softer than expected.

Zevran smiles back, reining in a comment about hair in other places. "I am glad you like it."

"You can touch mine too, if you want. It's not so soft."

Zevran does so, running his hand through Jack's hair. "It is still pleasant." It's coarse, with just a little gel to keep it tame.

Jack grins shyly. "You think?"

Zevran nods. "I like it." It’s oddly intimate and soothing, if nothing else.

"It gets in my face if I let it get too long." Jack sits upright at the sound of a key in the door. "That's Jowan."

Zevran sits back as well, patiently looking to the door. Jowan enters, looking rather damp and disheveled, although he had the foresight to use an umbrella. "Hi, Jack, I'm--" He catches sight of Zevran. "Oh. Hullo. Friend of Jack's?"

"New coworker,” Zevran offers. “Your friend has found a job."

"Ooh, so the interview went well? That's great! Er, hi." Jowan sticks his hand out a little awkwardly. "I'm Jowan."

"Zevran." He shakes it.

"Pleased to meet you. Did you, um--get caught in the rain? It's been so nasty out." Jowan shakes a few more drops off of his umbrella before setting it up near the door to dry, then pulls of his jacket.

"Yes, but it is no matter. I am dry and warm here." Zevran leaves any discussion on the soulmate topic to Jack.

Jack is too self-conscious to say it in front of Zevran. He gets to his feet and jerks his head to Jowan. "Come in the kitchen for a minute?"

They disappear, and when they come back Jack is blushing deeply and Jowan is grinning. "Well, well, well."

Zevran grins right back at him. "Did you also tell him about...?" he asks Jack.

"Not yet," Jack mumbles.

"Ah. Well, no matter." He turns to Jowan. "It has been an interesting day."

"I can see that. Listen--you got lucky, you hear?"

Zevran raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Jack's the best sort of soulmate you could hope for."

Jack groans and covers his face.

: "Ah, so I am to hold him to very high standards? I will keep that in mind."

"It's more that I'll be holding _you_ to very high standards."

"Jowan!" Jack squeaks aloud.

"You can evaluate me to see if I match your sexual standards, if you are so concerned."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Jack rocks, arms wrapped around his head.

"It was a joke." Zevran shakes his head. "I have no intention of hurting Jack or anything. He is a good man, I think."

"He is. And embarrassed enough, I think. I'll stop tormenting him."

"And here I thought this was for his benefit." Zevran lets his smile return, uneasy but expecting the tension to drop again.

"All for you, new friend! Jack already knows I'm not going to let anyone hurt him if I can help it."

"Ah, so he has no interesting kinks?"

"You… will have to ask him."

Zevran waves a hand. "It has been an interesting day regardless. Though, shall I take my leave? I would not want to take up space here for terribly long."

"You're Jack's guest."

"You can stay. If you want," Jack says, the sound of the iPad muffled by his body.

"I also came over uninvited."

"You don't have to," Jack says.

"You might as well stay for dinner, at this point," Jowan points out.

"I wouldn't want to impose." But Zevran also isn't keen on going back out in the rain.

"It's no trouble, if you don't mind Hamburger Helper."

Jack perks up a little, though he's still red-faced. "What kind?"

"Cheeseburger mac."

"Good!"

"I do not think I've had it before, but I will try," Zevran says.

"It's nothing special, but it's cheap and Jack likes it."

"Put peas in," Jack requests. "You should stay," he says to Zevran.

"Then stay I shall," Zevran says.

Jack beams at him. "Good!"


	3. Chapter 3

“So,” the Iron Bull says when he’s once again settled in at home, sitting on the living room sofa and watching Cyrnarel pace around the room. “Jack’s your soulmate.”

The room is spacious, with two couches and a flatscreen TV. Soft, forest green carpet lies underfoot and a wooden coffee table sits in the middle, dully reflecting the light from the tall window in the room. They would have gone with a glass table, but glass has a tendency to get broken in their house. A small vase with a few roses in it rests on the table, the vase adorned with a stylized owl. It’s a gift from Cyrnarel’s brother for their bonding.

“Looks like it,” Cyrnarel grumbles, brows furrowed with concern. “I’d hoped I’d never meet him.”  
  
“Cyrn, you can’t keep—“

“I can’t keep falling into self-pity, I can’t keep feeling miserable about myself—I get it, okay?” they snap. They stop by the sofa, running a hand through their hair. “I don’t want to weigh him down and I don’t want him to hurt me. Those are reasonable concerns.”

“You overestimate the amount you rely on others. You’ve barely even met the guy—how alienated is he going to feel, with you leaving like that? How unwanted?”

“How much trouble will it save us both if we don’t get involved?”

Bull sighs, patting the couch. “Sit.”

“Look, I don’t—“

“What if he ends up like me?” Bull interrupts. “What if he’s one of the best things to happen in your life? What if he becomes your friend, or your lover, and you two do a world of good for each other?”

Cyrnarel sits beside him. “You’re optimistic,” they say sourly.

“And you’re jaded.”

“I can’t see how you’re not.”

Iron Bull rests his arm across their shoulders. “All I’m asking is that you get to know him. If I think any shit’s going bad, I’ll tell you or I’ll step in myself.”

Cyrnarel hesitantly leans into his side, letting Bull wrap his arm around them warmly. “Even if I end up burdening him?”

“Yeah. Promise. It’s not going to happen, but I promise.”

* * *

 

The next day is a good deal dryer, Zevran and Dorian at the cafe for opening when Jack arrives. They're chatting with a redheaded Dalish--no doubt Mahanon, Zevran's boyfriend--as they start to get things ready for the day.

Jack's khakis look right-out-of-the-store new, and he brushes awkwardly at the creases as he comes inside. He can't help but stare at Mahanon a little, fingers flicking (low at his sides, not terribly noticeable, he can usually get away with that much). This is his soulmate's boyfriend. Jack can't help but think how opposite he seems, red hair to his dark, dark skin to his light, not to mention the size difference.

Mahanon turns to smile at him, looking up, a little surprised at his size. "Hey! You must be the new guy."

Jack keeps twitching and making small sounds, never seeming to rest. He smiles, hands fluttering at his sides. "Hi."

"I'm Mahanon." He sticks out his hand, letting out a chirp; Jack’s not the only one making sounds here. "I work at the library up by the Chantry."

Jack shakes the offered hand. "I'm Jack."

"Nice to meet you."

"Jack, come help us set up the espresso machines before he starts flirting with you," Dorian says.

"I can stop flirting with _you_ if it's that unpleasant," Mahanon says, grinning fondly at Dorian.

"Don't you _dare_. You’ll make this job even duller than it is now."

"Nice to meet you," Jack echoes, mimicking rhythm and tone almost exactly before dodging behind the counter and looking for a place to set up his iPad where it won't get wet. He settles it on the top of one of the espresso grinders.

Zevran sets about to showing him what's what. "I can walk you through a few cups to start with. It is not difficult, and you should pick up the skills quickly."

Out from a side door—not connected to the breakroom, but presumably the kitchen instead—comes Iron Bull, carrying a tray of fresh croissants and other baked goods and humming cheerfully to himself.

"Okay." Jack stares at the tray, distracted, but… well, there's no way to whisper on an iPad, so he says nothing.

"You're new in town?" Mahanon asks, leaning on the counter as Bull starts to set up and sort the pastries.

Jack nods, reaching for the iPad. "We just moved into town a few weeks ago."

"Welcome to Skyhold!" Mahanon says cheerily. “It’s not the best place to live, but—“

"You're distracting him," Bull interrupts, nudging his shoulder. "Let him work."

Mahanon huffs but allows it, turning to chat away with Dorian instead. Jack sucks his teeth for a moment, then replaces his iPad on the coffee grinder and returns to learning where everything is, looking a little surly.

"You will get used to him," Zevran says quietly.

Jack sighs and nods, blowing out a breath of air. He taps the machine Zevran had been struggling with the previous night. "Problem?"

"It gets stuck sometimes. Stops working. Half the machines in here are old, it is really quite terrible."

Jack nods. "Looking later."

"It would be better to replace than to fix, I think."

Jack shrugs expressively; that part's not up to him.

"Here. I'll show you how to make a cappuccino, since that is what Mahanon always orders."

Jack rubs his hands together briefly, looking almost eager. "Okay."

"And if I want a mocha?" Mahanon asks.

"Then it will be a very foamy mocha with no chocolate, my dear."

"What a cruel man you are."

Bull returns to the kitchen while Zevran is busy showing Jack what to do. Meanwhile, Mahanon and Dorian engage in a fair bit of flirting, quiet to not distract those two.

It's not the smoothest cappuccino in the world, but Jack places it proudly before Mahanon, announcing, "First cappuccino."

"Oh, wonderful." Mahanon picks up the drink. "I've got to head off to work. You have a good first day!"

"Bye!" Jack waves, then turns around with a wince, feeling awkward.

"You did fine," Zevran assures him.

"I've seen some people fail to give cappuccinos any foam," Dorian says. "Yours is spectacular in comparison."

Jack flaps a hand dismissively, reddening, and Dorian turns to wipe off the machine.

"Oh, yes, the thing we discussed yesterday--that is a secret," Zevran tells Jack. "But just for the moment."

"A secret?" Dorian asks. "Do tell."

"You do not know what a secret is? Tsk. And here I thought it was you who had an education."

"Do not tell," Jack promises Zevran, reddening still more.

"Oh, my. What _did_ you two get up to last night? You haven't even worked a shift together yet!"

"Something decidedly less exciting than whatever you got up to with Mahanon," Zevran responds snidely.

"But now I am filled with burning questions."

"Careful not to scorch the counters with them."

Jack blinks, then points at Dorian. "Mage?"

"Pointing is rather impolite," Dorian says, though he seems rather unoffended.

"Yes, mage,” Zevran confirms. “As is Mahanon. That is also a secret."

"All this secrecy," Dorian says.

"Me too," Jack says.

Dorian’s eyes light up. "Excellent. A scholar?"

"Hnn. No."

Dorian sighs dramatically. "I truly am all alone."

"Your soulmate is a scholar," Zevran points out.

"My soulmate does not work here," Dorian says, “which leaves me rather lonely.”

"I'm a battle-mage." It's not strictly relevant, but with his iPad out of the way, Jack only has so many phrases in his roster.

"Ah, wonderful. We are well prepared in the case of any dragon attacks," Dorian says.

"Ha-ha." Jack wrinkles his nose.

"Not confident in your abilities?"

Jack raises his eyebrows. "Try me."

"We do not want to replace the counters again," Zevran says, "and the morning rush is about to begin."

"Again?"

Dorian rubs the back of his neck. "Well..."

Jack winces, laughing.

"I may have gotten a little nervous when I met my soulmate."

Jack laughs again, ears turning red.

"Honestly, I'd had this pickup line on my arm for ages, and it was delivered just as awfully as I'd expected. I ended up scorching the counter by accident out of surprise—no fires set, mind you, simply heat."

"Details, my fine friend," Zevran says, rolling his eyes. "The counter still needed replacing."

"I can't believe Bull charged me for that one," Dorian grumbles.

Jack shoots Zevran a glance. At least he can say he played it cool when he met his soulmate. Soulmates.

"A terrible day indeed," Dorian huffs.

Keeping one eye on the door, Jack reaches up to type on his iPad. "Was meeting your soulmate really so awful?"

"Yes! He snores."

"I hear you do, too," Zevran points out.

"He snores louder."

"You found that out the first day you met him?" Jack asks.

"No, but that day led to lots of nights filled with snoring."

"Dorian is quite happy with Mahanon," Zevran says. The door chimes as a customer enters. "Complaining is his... aesthetic."

"What's an... that?"

"Aesthetic? Hm. It is his look. His personality."

"Welcome to Skyline Cafe!" Dorian calls out cheerfully. "How can I help you today?"

It's a cappuccino.

"I can make it?" Jack asks aloud, fingers flicking with sudden nerves.

"All yours," Zevran says.

Jack's a little slow, but he manages it with minimal errors, even wiping the steamer with a little flourish once he's finished.

Zevran squeezes his shoulder and grins as a few more customers trickle in. "Bull makes snacks for the lunch breaks. Croissants, sometimes. He makes them particularly fancy when he knows Cyrnarel's coming."

"Fancy?"

"Chocolate drizzle, stuffed doughnuts, those sorts of things."

The next drink's a triple shot vanilla latte with a pump of chocolate. Jack gives Zevran an anxious look. "Three… espresso?"

Zevran nods, picking up a cup to start on the next person's order. "Yes."

"[How much vanilla…?]" He signs, forgetting that he hasn't checked if anyone understands the language.

Zevran gives him a questioning look and takes a guess. "Foam on top, four pumps vanilla, one pump chocolate."

"Thank you!" He scrambles to get the shots started.

* * *

 

It's a long few hours until the lunch break, when Bull takes over for Dorian and nudges Jack to the backroom to "go get something to eat before you panic."

Cyrnarel is in the backroom already—and somehow Jack missed them enter the building in the first place—fiddling about on their phone. There's a tray of warm white chocolate chip cookies and a bag from the sandwich place down the road sitting on the table.

Jack steps inside, shutting the door behind him with a heavy sigh.

And then he looks up and sees Cyrnarel and freezes.

Cyrnarel looks up at him and scowls, then looks back at their phone.

Dorian takes a seat comfortably, rummaging through the sandwich bag and pulling out two sandwiches, checking the receipt. "Tuna or chicken, Jack? Believe it or not, the tuna from this place is not as miserable as it sounds."

"Tuna," he says tersely, sitting down and pulling his knees up.

Dorian slides that one over to him. "Stressed?" he asks, grabbing a cookie to munch on.

Jack nods, running a hand through his hair.

"Well, you haven't set anything on fire yet. That's a start."

"It's loud out there," he says, grateful that his computerized voice can't sound tremulous or tired.

"It does get like that. Sera actually prefers the busier times. It's a wonder she never comes in on Saturdays." Dorian begins to unpeel the plastic from his sandwich. "How has your day been, Cyrnarel?"

"Fine," they say, staring down at their phone. Their left hand wears a glove while their right does not, scrolling down whatever they're looking at.

"Not in the mood for meeting Jack, then?" Dorian bites into the sandwich, grimacing--why in the Maker's name does Cyrnarel keep ordering sandwiches with pickles?

"Not in any mood."

Jack begins unwrapping his own sandwich, very carefully not looking at Cyrnarel.

"You two not fond of each other?"

"Shove it, shem," Cyrnarel says, and Dorian's mouth clicks shut. Jack flinches and stares down at his iPad.

Dorian sighs, munching down on his sandwich, and he stands once he's done, brushing the crumbs off his hands. "I'll leave you two to be miserable together."

Jack shoots him a somewhat desperate look but doesn't ask him to stay.

And the two are left alone, Cyrnarel's eyes boring holes into their phone.

"Look," Jack starts finally. "I'm not going to bother you if you don't want me to."

Cyrnarel pauses, fingers twitching nervously.

"That's all. Sorry."

Cyrnarel shakes their head, looking back down at their phone. After a minute, they say, "You're not a bother."

"I'm Jack."

"...I'm Cyrnarel."

Jack smiles a little. "It's nice to meet you."

"Sure." They remain wary of him, looking up a little from their phone.

Jack’s smile wavers and he looks back down.

"I don't know you."

"I know."

"What do you want from me?" The question isn't accusing, simply... searching.

"I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead; I met you yesterday," Jack says. He wishes he knew what Cyrnarel wanted from him.

"You're a mage."

"Yeah."

"Kirkwall. Force mage?"

"I was born there, not raised. Ferelden, elemental and battle magic."

"Why?" Cyrnarel asks.

"Why what?"

"Why that magic?"

"Natural aptitude. And lack of aptitude for much else," Jack says.

Cyrnarel nods, then shyly fiddles about with their phone.

"I'd better get back on the floor," Jack says.

"I suppose." They almost sound disappointed.

"We can talk another time?" Jack offers. "You're here a lot, right?"

They nod hesitantly.

"We don't have to decide or even think about anything right away," Jack says.

"Yeah."

"There's time."

"Time. Yeah."

Jack ducks out.

When three rolls around, he's looking more worn than before, though keeping a brave face--he wouldn't want anyone to think he can't handle the job.

Still, he can't help but duck into the back room, and hoping he has a couple minutes before Dorian comes in, goes to a corner and quietly covers his head with his arms.

Cyrnarel's sitting quietly on the backroom's sofa, back against the arm and legs forming an upside-down 'V' in an effort to comfortably take up space. They are once again looking down at their phone, and most of the cookies remain on the table.

It takes a moment before Jack realizes he's not alone. He drops his arms with a guilty start and returns to the table, reaching for a cookie; something sweet would be comforting right now. Cyrnarel leaves him be, more focused on their phone than him.

Well, maybe they didn't see. Jack breathes, allowing himself to relax a little. They definitely did see him, but they're not about to poke him while he's stressed.

Jack's feeling less raw by the time he finishes the cookie. "Long day," he notes, just to make conversation.

"'S only three," Cyrnarel says.

"I got here at five."

"Long day, then."

Jack nods."It's so many people going by."

"Calmer back here."

"It's good."

"Back here? I suppose. It's boring," Cyrnarel says. They look over at Jack.

"Boring can be good."

"Still boring."

Jack shrugs. "It's hard seeing so many people."

"You a boring guy?"

He blinks, frowns a little. "Well, I don't know."

Cyrnarel sighs. "Don't worry on it. I just don't have shit to do."

"I just get… overwhelmed sometimes."

"Yeah."

"But it doesn't mean I can't handle it."

"Yeah." A sadder tone. "You're alright, shem."

"Thanks, I think."

"It's not an insult."

"I know. I'm just not sure where it comes from, I guess. You hardly know me," Jack says.

"You seem alright."

"That's good. I'm glad."

Cyrnarel sighs again. "You got anyone else for you?"

He nods. "Two others."

"Then we can forget all this shit and just move on."

Jack fumbles for a moment. It's perfectly reasonable, he _knows_ that, but… he wasn't expecting it to hurt.

"…Yeah, of course."

Well, that was easier than expected. "Oh. Good."

"Yeah." Jack rolls his shoulders forward, jaw tight.

Cyrnarel returns to their phone. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Okay."

That was also easy, Cyrnarel thinks. It's painful, but necessary. They drop the conversation there, paying more attention to their phone.

After another few minutes, Jack grabs his bag and his jacket and leaves.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates may be more frequent, thanks to summer free time.
> 
> Please take note of the updated tags. The content is written but not yet edited. Heavy themes will be featured.

Despite their words, Cyrnarel winds up knocking on Jack's door around midnight Sunday, half hoping he simply isn't there.

He's not only there, he's awake--watching cable with the volume low, Jowan having long since gone to bed. He reaches the door and looks into the peephole, standing back with a frown when he realizes who it is. After a moment of hesitation, he opens the door.

"Hi." Jack looks wary, as though he's nervous that they're going to bite him.

"Hi." Cyrnarel’s wearing similar clothing to yesterday: plain dark colors, with a thin jacket and a glove on their left hand. They smell of… steak? "I'm a dick. Sorry."

"Come inside." Jack leads them to the couch, where he wakes his iPad. He watches Cyrnarel step in hesitantly, nervous and uncertain, focused on Jack rather than their surroundings. "It's okay. You don't have to--you know. You don't have to want me."

"I don't know you," Cyrnarel says. It’s cautious. Their body remains tense, and they stand while he sits on the arm of the couch.

"I know. And if you don't want to, well. That's your right."

"I was rude."

He shrugs. "I'll live."

"I want to apologize,” Cyrnarel says. “You deserve better than me, and you've got two better than me. You'll do fine." They abruptly turn for the door, eager to leave now that they’ve said their piece.

Jack frowns. That’s not right. "Wait."

They stop, half considering simply leaving, but they turn around again. "What?"

"Don't you think that's my call? Who's good enough for me?"

"You've got options," Cyrnarel says.

"So do you," Jack points out.

"You don't want to be stuck with me." It would be a lot easier if Jack just accepted that.

Jack smiles faintly, fingers fluttering above the screen.. "You don't seem so awful. I'm sure Bull doesn't feel stuck."

"He doesn't have options, and... He met me before I got like this."

"Like what?"

"I'm a mess. You can't tell like this. Better that way." It sounds pessimistic and almost unfair to their own ears, but it's easier if they can snap it off. Not that they hadn't earlier, but the apology was necessary, and maybe a bit of justification to soften the whole thing.

"Yeah, well. Mine's obvious.” Jack smiles mirthlessly. “I'm used to messes."

"You're not a mess," Cyrnarel insists, eyes starting to grow damp. "You’re different, but not a mess. Look, you'll be happier without me, yeah? Soulmate shit doesn't matter if I'll just bog you down. I don't want to be a mistake or an obligation."

"I already told you I'm not going to try and force you into anything."

"I don't want you to  _ hope _ ." Red rims their eyes.

"Don't worry, you've been very clear." Jack's holding himself rather stiffly, self-protective, just short of crossing his arms over his stomach.

"Good." They nod and turn back to the door, letting out a sniffle.

"I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Jack."

"I showed up in your life, and I messed things up and made things complicated. It wasn't on purpose, but it still happened."

Cyrnarel turns back around, shaking their hands before them. "No! No. You're fine, you didn't do shit. I just... It would be irresponsible..."

Jack bristles suddenly. "I'm not a child!"

"And I am not a person!"

In hindsight, "good person" would have been a more appropriate phrase, but now they're particularly stressed.

"That doesn't even make sense!"

"I don't care! You don't get it!" Cyrnarel says, tears pricking at their eyes. Their breathing quickens and their eyes dart about the room, noting the window and furniture. The television is running on mute.

"No, you're right, I must be too stupid!"

"No! You're not! You're everything I've--  _ I _ am the problem, and look how I'm fucking it all up." Now they really are crying. "I'm sorry."

"Don't cry," Jack says, distressed.

"I'm not crying," they insist, tears rolling down their cheeks. "I don't cry."

Jack gets up from the couch. "Sit down," he says out loud, wishing not for the first time that he had a little more in the way of tone variation.

"What for?" Cyrnarel asks, eyes snapping back to Jack warily. "I'm leaving."

"Just a cup of water." Jack looks tired. "It helps."

They start to protest, but close their mouth before saying anything. Refusing even water would just be rude, and they’ve already ruined Jack’s night. "What do you want?" they ask.

"Nothing," Jack says, already halfway to the kitchen. "I was just watching television."

Slowly Cyrnarel takes a seat on the couch, looking at it as if it's going to hurt them. Ultimately it's just a couch. It's clean, but obviously secondhand, and worn enough that the springs can be felt in places. They poke at the fabric with their right hand while they wait.

Jack returns with a glass of water and perches himself rather awkwardly on the coffee table. "Here,” he says, holding the glass out to Cyrnarel. “I like to watch How It's Made. They play it for hours and hours sometimes."

Cyrnarels gaze drifts to the television, then snaps back to Jack. They're still not sure about him.

"You don't even have to listen, really," Jack says, babbling a little out of nerves. "You can just watch all the machines doing things."

They pick up the water and take a few long drinks, thinking over their words as they watch Jack watching them. "I've made you uncomfortable,” they say, nestling the cup between their hands. “Sorry."

Jack shrugs. "I'm uncomfortable kind of a lot."

"...So am I."

"Really? I would have never guessed." Jack's smiling nervously.

Cyrnarel frowns, looking down at the water. "You're polite." Even the sarcasm seems friendly.

"That's a new one on me."

"Well, you are. You're good." They sound sad, almost like they've lost something.

"I'm too blunt. I never know what to say. I don't look at people when I talk to them."

"Neither do I. It’s not weird."

"Lots of people think it is."

"I'm not lots of people." They smile hesitantly.

"Me neither." Jack smiles back.

Cyrnarel takes a breath. "I could die, Jack,” they say, cutting straight to the worst that could happen. “You don't deserve that."

Jack blinks slowly. "Are you sick?"

"Yeah, sick's a word for it." They drink more water, downing the rest of the cup.

"Anybody could die."

"Me quicker than others."

"You don't know. I could get run over by a car tomorrow,” Jack says.

"Low chances. Mine are a lot higher than that."

"I guess it doesn't matter."

"Yeah, so long as we don't see each other," Cyrnarel says.

"I should find another job," Jack says flatly.

"Don't, your job is fine. We just shouldn't..."

"Talk. Right. I remember."

They cringe. "Sorry."

"It's your life," Jack says.

"I just don't want to hurt you."

"Little late for that," he says.

Cyrnarel lowers their eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry. I should go. I won't talk to you again."

"Suit yourself."

They head for the door once more. "Sorry," they say quietly. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"It's fine."

They nod and exit, closing the door quietly behind them.

Jack groans a little under his breath and returns to his television program, arms wrapped around his legs.

* * *

 

Cyrnarel isn't there Tuesday, but there is one customer happy to sit and chat with Jack and the others at the counter when there's a lull in customers, sipping at his cappuccino.

"You're new here," he says, voice oddly accented. "Temp job?"

He's Dalish--and this place seems to have quite a lot of them frequenting it--with his face crisscrossed with scars, dark puffy lines all across the brown and sunkissed skin. His short hair is a military cut, almost gold in the sunlight from the windows, and his eyes are a vibrant amber.

"Well, I hope not," Jack types after grabbing his tablet. He would rather not have to find another job.

"Most people don't keep their jobs here. They're just moving along. I do believe that was Dorian's plan?" the elf asks, peering over at Dorian, who is leaning next to the third espresso machine.

"I can't just abandon the rest of you, can I?" Dorian asks, then sighs. "I don't have a lot of options here, you know."

"I don't have anywhere to move along to," Jack says.

"Then I'll be glad to keep seeing you around! My name's Yavven," the elf says, sitting up straighter and offering his hand. His whole body seems to scream positivity.

Jack shakes it. "I'm Jack," he says aloud.

"Nice to meet you, Jack. I work over at the gym, if you're ever inclined to go there."

"Um, okay."

"Yavven is Cyrnarel's brother," Zevran provides usefully, looking up from his phone. "And marginally friendlier."

"Cyrnarel is friendly," Yavven says with a grin. He’s well aware of Cyrnarel’s prickliness.

"They can be."

Jack isn't exactly great at masking his reactions. He immediately draws back, stiffening. "Ah."

Yavven's eyebrows furrow and Zevran follows his gaze towards Jack. "Is something the matter?" Yavven asks.

"No. I'm fine."

"Alright, amico," Zevran says.

"I take it you've met Cyrnarel? I suppose they can give a poor first impression," Yavven says.

"They're fine," Jack says stiffly.

"They get along with most--well, some people just fine." Yavven sips at his coffee. "But it might take some time. Where were you before Skyhold?"

"Ferelden."

"School?"

"Yeah." Jack's clearly still uncomfortable, hands unnaturally still at his sides when he isn't using them to speak.

"How's Skyhold for you?" It's a little cool here, being fall, though warmer than a Fereldan fall would be. A fair bit rainier too.”

"It seems all right. It's not as chilly as Ferelden, but the air is thin."

Yavven nods. "And the people?"

"Nice enough, I guess."

"Ohoh!" Dorian exclaims, making coffee for another customer. "Only nice enough?"

"Patience, Dorian, he has only just met us," Zevran says.

"And not really anyone else, either," Jack says.

"Good luck settling in. You here on your own?" Yavven asks.

"No, I--have a roommate. Jowan."

"You're not stranded, then? Good." Yavven pulls out his phone and answers a text. "I take it the Iron Bull hasn't frightened you off."

"Not yet." Jack's half convinced it's still coming, considering how close the guy is to Cyrnarel.

Yavven chuckles. "I doubt he will. He's a big softie."

"I'm sure he is," Jack says, not believing it.

Yavven looks back down at his phone, making an 'ooo' sound and texting back. "Give it time. Or go out drinking with him. Your job shouldn't be miserable here, trust me."

"It's not miserable so far."

"Certainly not with us here," Dorian says.

"You're a little full of yourself." Jack grins.

Dorian huffs. "It's not my fault some people can't recognize my charm."

Zevran laughs, patting his shoulder. "Of course it isn’t.."

Yavven laughs too, then looks down at his phone. And looks back up at Jack. Phone. Jack. Phone. Jack. His eyebrows climb up.

Jack freezes, staring back.

Yavven glances around--there's few customers waiting on coffee. He keeps a smile stuck on his face. "Can we talk? In the backroom?"

Jack glances around, frowning. "Can you cover it?" He asks Dorian.

"Yes, of course." Dorian and Zevran exchange a curious glance, but the situation at least doesn't appear too worrying.

Jack ducks out from behind the counter, looking grim. Yavven follows him to the back room, coffee in hand. 

"You're soulmates," he says, taking a seat. He's curious.

Jack sits across from him and props his iPad up. "Yeah."

"Cyrnarel doesn't like you?" Yavven asks dubiously.

"Apparently not."

"Annnnnd you don't know why."

"All they've done is drop a bunch of hints about what a horrible person they supposedly are."

Yavven drags a hand down his face. "Hints?"

"Yeah. About as much as I just said, is what they've told me." Jack shifts in his chair, frowning. "They came to my apartment to apologize for saying they didn't want to talk to me, and then told me they didn't want to talk to me some more."

"And it's because they don't want to weigh you down or hurt you?" Yavven sips at his coffee.

"I guess."

Yavven sighs. "And you haven't been able to get a word in, have you?"

"No. He let me give him a glass of water, though."

Yavven sighs again. "Cyrnarel's wanted to meet you for a long time. I... Well, I have some ideas on why they would reject you, but it has nothing to do with disliking you."

"Does it matter? I've already told them I'm not going to force them into anything, and they just keep chasing me around to tell me they don't want me!" Jack’s eyebrows crease together in pain.

"I thought they sought you out to apologize?"

"Yeah, and then they said it all again."

"This... sounds like a mess."

"You think?" Jack sighs, forcing his shoulders to relax. "Sorry."

"No, your upset seems justified, I think."

"I know it's all to do with their…stuff, whatever it is,” Jack says, “but it feels like they're saying I'm not smart enough to decide for myself if something is good for me or not."

"They don't want to start anything because they don't want to hurt you? Is that it?"

"Something like that, I guess.” Jack shrugs. “It's not like they were clear."

"That is a tendency of theirs."

"They can do what they like, but they don't have to bring it into my  _ home _ ."

"I can tell them you want no more contact with them."

"That's not what I said!"

Yavven lets go of his coffee and raises his hands. "Okay, okay. I'm no good at sorting these things out, but I am trying."

Jack sucks in a breath. "It's not that I'm not interested, but I'm not going to chase them down if they want nothing to do with me. The reason why doesn't really matter, does it? And I've done my best to gracefully step back, but it's not as though it doesn't sting, and I don't much appreciate it getting rubbed in my face."

"They want something to do with you, I think, but not if it involves hurting you. They seem to have done that... poorly." Yavven hunches over. "I'll tell them to lay off a bit and stop bothering you, but... Well, it can't hurt for you two to at least be friendly with each other, especially with you here. Perhaps even friends. I'll talk to them."

"If you like." Jack heaves another sigh and sets off talking again. "It's not as though I know them, but they don't seem so horrible to me. And it bothers me when people act like I can't make choices for myself. But I can't press the issue because it would be like manipulating them into giving me a chance when they don't want to."

Yavven nods thoughtfully. "I can tell them you'd be willing to give them a chance. Maybe not now, but…” He shakes his head, sighing into his coffee. “They're usually as afraid of rejection as they are of hurting others. And they can be a little dramatic. They're wonderful, of course, but emotional."

Jack nods, looking a little calmer. "All right."

"Maybe you two need to go slow. Even with, you know, just getting to know each other."

"Yeah."

Yavven smiles reassuringly. "I'm sorry for any sort of... well, stress, or confusion. They really are a good person."

"It's just that things are supposed to be all right, at home. What's the point of having a home otherwise?"

"I'll ask them not to make any more home visits, either."

"Not…now, anyway."

"Not until you're at least friendly with each other."

"Yes."

Yavven nods. "Anything else?"

"I don't know. I don't think so."

"Well... I hope things go well. With this. With everything. Do you have any others? If you don't mind me asking." Yavven sips at his drink, feeling himself relax.

"Two others,” Jack says. “I've met two out of three, now. That's another thing they said--I've got options. Or, on the other hand--maybe I shouldn't be greedy."

"You're not being greedy, but three? That's a lot. That's the same as Cyrnarel."

Jack nods. "Imagine my surprise when I met two on the same day."

"Really?"

He nods again. "And I'd half convinced myself I was going to be one of those people who never met theirs."

"How old are you? You look young."

"Twenty-two."

Yavven laughs lightly. "Oh, definitely young."

Jack reddens a little. "It's silly, I know."

"We all worry. I was over thirty before I met mine."

"Really?"

"Really. I worried Cyrnarel might go the same route with their third."

"Am I the third?"

"Yes."

"I only knew about the Bull."

Yavven clears his throat. "You're not going to know about the other one."

"…oh."

"No questions that I will answer, at any rate."

Jack’s jaw tightens again. "I didn't ask."

"I know, but you might have. Curiosity is only natural."

"Everyone sure seems to be making assumptions about my motivations lately."

"Most people have curiosity. I have no intention of assuming anything other than that."

"It's okay. You made yourself pretty clear."

"I did?" Yavven blinks at him.

"Yeah. I got the message. No questions."

"...Yes. Right." He runs a hand through his hair, a few strands sticking up near the front. "I've taken enough of your time."

"Okay." Jack manages a small smile.

"You should get back to work. Save the poor customers from those two."

"Okay." He stands. "Um. Bye."

"I do still have a coffee to finish," Yavven says, standing with him, "but I'll leave you to your work."

"All right." Jack closes his iPad and tucks it under his arm, standing.

And Yavven leads the way out, returning to his spot at the counter. The cafe has started filling up, and Zevran looks up with relief at Jack. Jack smiles weakly at him and sets to work, throwing himself into learning the drinks as he makes them, distracting himself.


	5. Chapter 5

It's mid-morning, and Alistair is in a rush, nearly late for a doctor's appointment. Grey Wardens go in for a physical about six months after their Joining, and he’s due for his. He's hungry, he hasn't had coffee, and he doesn't even glance at the cafe's sign before entering.

Alistair is a tall, well-built man, brown-skinned and sprinkled liberally with freckles that haven't faded yet from summer; his hair is a dark strawberry blond. He’s fit and has an almost model-perfect body, with a small amount of fat to pad his muscles. A few strands of hair stick up from the rest of it, Alistair having hardly had time to comb it.

The morning rush at the cafe has mostly ended, and there are only a smattering of customers inside, sitting at a few of the window tables to chat or tap the keys on their laptops.

"Ah, a customer!" Zevran says, patting Jack on the shoulder. It's the mid-morning lull, which makes things peaceful and business slow. Bull is back in the kitchens, Dorian is taking the morning off, and Cyrnarel is nowhere to be found--they've been sparse over the past couple of weeks since Jack's arrival, though not unkind to Jack. 

"Welcome to the Skyline Cafe!" Zevran calls out, clasping his hands together and flashing his most charming smile. "What would you like to drink on this fine morning?"

Unlike Jack, Alistair does  _ not _ play it cool. His face floods with red immediately, the blush spreading up to his ears and down his neck in blotches.

"Oh. Er. Um. I think--I'll have a caramel latte?" He smiles anxiously.

"Nervous? I do have that effect on people." Zevran smiles back charmingly, though his hands shake slightly as he types in the price. "To go?"

"Yeah, I'm in kind of a rush." Alistair drags his hand back through his hair, which is short enough to stand up on end when he does so, making it look even less well combed. "Yeah. Okay."

"Caramel latte then, Jack." Zevran plops the paper cup in front of Jack with a little more force than necessary. "That'll be $3.27."

"Okay." Alistair digs in his wallet, hands trembling. As he passes over a five, he starts, and says to Jack, "Oh, wait a second! Hold the whip please, and um, can you make it half-caf?"

Jack blinks and swivels around to give Zevran a look before turning back to the coffee.

Alistair hands the money over to Zevran’s patiently waiting hands. "Aha, thanks, um. Thanks."

"Not a problem, Mr. Caramel Latte."

He reddens even more. "Alistair."

"Mr. Alistair." Zevran, of course, has a nametag on his blue apron.

"Listen, um.” Alistair shifts his weight a few times as he speaks. “What time do you get off?"

"Forward, aren't you?" Zevran says. "I get off at four.”

Alistair looks rather as if he'd like to melt into the floor, his whole face burning. "Sorry! I just--sorry."

"I have no other plans for the evening," Zevran adds helpfully. 

Jack finishes his coffee, chiming the little bell he's started keeping there for times he can't get his tongue together to call out the order. Alistair grabs it in panicked desperation. "Anyway, I've got to go! Later!"

He flees.

Zevran stares after him thoughtfully, fingers resting on his chin. "He's athletic," he says appreciatively.

"Judging by his reaction, I'd guess you're his soulmate," Jack observes, having picked up his tablet.

"I have a type, it seems. A rather pleasant one."

"Is it mutual?"

Zevran pulls up the end of his sleeve, showing bold text asking for a  _ "caramel latte?" _ along his forearm. "This is one very eventful month."

"You don't know the half of it!"

Zevran chuckles. "I almost feel like everyone I know met their soulmate in this cafe."

"No, I mean--really, you aren't going to believe this."

"Try me." Zevran crosses his arms and leans on the counter.

"He's my third."

Zevran stares at him. "No. ...Truly?"

"Truly!" Jack says, grinning.

"He's really your third? Honestly?"

Jack nods. "'Hold the whip.' It's on my ankle."

"Just that, or the whole thing?"

"The whole thing."

"Then I guess he must be." Zevran pauses. "Wow."

"Wow," Jack agrees.

"You did not say anything to the poor man."

"I couldn't think of what to say!"

"You might have given him a heart attack. Perhaps it is best that he ordered decaf, his nerves must be on fire,” Zevran says.

"He seems a little high strung."

"Busy day, he said."

"Right." Jack grimaces. "Now I'm going to overthink it."

"I wonder if he has words from you?" Zevran muses.

"That's what I'll be over thinking."

"Say something when he comes back," Zevran suggests. “Judging by his reaction here, you will know right away.”

"Like what? There's all this pressure now!" Jack flaps his hand anxiously a couple of times before stilling it.

"Tell him he has beautiful eyes?"

"I didn't really see his eyes. He is cute, though."

"There! Just flirt with him and you'll get there. Or I can ask him to show you the words and then  _ you _ can say them. Shame that never actually happens. I'm not entirely certain why."

"The Maker's will is mysterious, I suppose," Jack says.

Zevran chuckles. "Cyrnarel is not very big on the Maker, by the way."

"I'm not either. It's just something people say."

"Mm, I do not think they even like the phrases."

"I can't really blame them,” Jack says. “They make things complicated."

"At least they like coffee. They even get along with Dorian over it."

"Good. That's good."

"They like flowers, by the way. Sappy romantic things. Not sweets; Bull is an excellent chef and I think they get their fill. But other things. Dates."

"We're not talking right now," Jack says, typing the words stiffly.

"Ah. Well. Perhaps when you are." Pause. "I'm free tomorrow evening."

"You want to take me out?" Jack’s cheeks flush.

"So long as you do not find it too fast."

"...No, it's okay. I'm free."

Zevran grins. "Wonderful. It's a date."

"Should be interesting to see what you come up with."

Zevran’s grin grows. "The date won't be extravagant, but if you're looking for anything after..."

"We'll see."

"Do not worry. I have full intentions of meeting your standards." He winks, then turns as someone else enters to greet them and ask for their order.

* * *

 

Zevran ends his shift a few minutes before 4, ducking into the backroom and making Dorian look back curiously. 

"Is he busy today?" Dorian asks.

"He's meeting someone after work," Jack says after taking a moment to retrieve his tablet.

"A date?" Dorian raises an eyebrow. “Not with Mahanon, not at this time of day.”

"A pre-date, I think."

"Is there a new customer he likes?"

Jack nods. He figures if Zevran isn't ready for people to know Jack's his soulmate, he certainly wouldn't want them to know about the new one. "This sort of military looking guy came in earlier and asked him what time his shift ended."

"My, what a lucky day."

"Something like that."

"Jealous?"

"No!" Jack turns red.

Dorian chuckles, patting Jack on the shoulder. "Sometimes I wonder when he'll find his soulmates. I imagine he'll be rather happy. He gets a little glum sometimes."

"He does?"

"You know how it is: Being young, wanting to find soulmates. He gets along alright with Mahanon, but it isn't the same. And no doubt he's got other problems of his own like the rest of us."

"He doesn't talk about himself much."

"Have any of us talked about ourselves much since meeting you?" Dorian asks.

"Not really. Not me, either."

"Well, how about we all get together sometime? Not during work hours, of course. For a movie or game, perhaps.” Dorian rubs his chin, thinking. “Tomorrow evening?"

"I...actually have a date then."

"A date! With whom?"

"Zevran, actually."

Dorian blinks a few times. "What? With Zevran? Really?"

"Yes,” Jack says. “Is it so unbelievable?"

"No, I just--it is not something I would have expected. He hasn't sought out a relationship since Mahanon."

"Oh. Well."

"...You are telling me that Zevran has two dates in as many days?" Dorian asks.

"Well, the other one is a pre-date."

"Normally he goes for hookups." Dorian is now indeed very curious.

"I mean, he offered."

Zevran comes out from the backroom, wearing regular clothes--with the sleeves rolled up, no less, giving Dorian his first view of one of Zevran's marks--and leaning against the counter.

"What exactly is going on with you?" Dorian asks. "Or have you simply grown a fondness for..." He tilts his head. "...Caramel lattes?"

"I haven't a clue what you're speaking of, my friend," Zevran says, tucking a strand of straw hair behind his ear.

"You look nice."

"A true paragon of beauty, I know."

"Let me know how it goes. What he's like."

Zevran glances at Jack. “Has somebody been gossipping?”

"Yes, well, that’s what we do here, is it not?” Dorian says. "Good luck with it. Is he coming here?"

"Yes, he should be."

The three of them are still clustered together gossiping when Alistair arrives. He looks almost like he wants to die.

"Is this the lucky man?" Dorian asks in a stage whisper.

Zevran  _ tsks _ at him. "Amico,  _ I _ am the lucky one here. Look how charming he is!"

Alistair goes red again. "Um. Hi!"

"Go," Jack urges Zevran. "Quick, before he has a stroke."

"He will be fine--look how fit he is!”

"Do forgive him; he can be a little pushy," Dorian says. "Good luck on your date, both of you."

Alistair, already red, gives a flustered attempt at speaking. "Oh, is it--I didn't know it was a…well, I didn't bring anything, and I'm not really dressed--"

Zevran sighs and chuckles. "It will be fine, Alistair. Do not worry." He pushes himself away from the counter, giving Jack a look almost asking him to say something.

Jack catches his eye and falters, hand hovering over the iPad. He gives his head a tiny shake, helpless.

Zevran smiles at him anyway, then turns away, patting Alistair's shoulder. "Off we shall go, hm?"

"Right." Alistair smiles, opening the door for him.

And off they go, headed for Zevran's favorite sushi bar. He's all about good first impressions, after all.

"So!" Alistair says, once they're out the door. "It's, er…nice to finally meet you, I guess!"

"Indeed it is. It seems the season for meeting one's soulmates."

"Oh, are you doing that thing where you find yours and it seems like everyone you know is finding theirs too?" 

"I have found both of mine, my other soulmate has found his other two, and one of my close friends has found their third. Well, second. It is complicated."

"All in one  _ month _ ?" Alistair blinks, shaking his head a little. "And three for each?"

"Two for me," Zevran says. "And yes, all in a month. Have you anyone else?"

"I have two, and I always thought  _ that _ was a lot."

"Have you found the second one?"

"Not yet."

"Well, good luck to you." It would be impolite to ask what the words are, though Zevran burns with curiosity.

"Thanks. I mean…one for two isn't bad," Alistair says.

"...Yes. One for two."

"And you're--I mean--well."

"I am...?" Zevran prods.

"You know, good-looking. I know that's not supposed to matter, but it doesn't  _ hurt _ ."

Zevran practically preens. "It is nice to be appreciated. You're quite athletic yourself."

"Well," Alistair says, flushed. "You know. Training."

"Training for what? You have that military look about you, you know."

"The Templars, mostly, but I didn't end up joining."

"Ah." Zevran can't help the bit of disappointment that leaks into his voice; he's never been fond of Templars. "Where did you end up?"

"Grey Wardens."

"That sounds rather less fortunate, what with the darkspawn and all."

"Are you kidding?” Alistair asks, eyebrow raised. “It's a huge improvement! I always wanted to be a Grey Warden, ever since I was a kid."

"Isn't it much more..." Zevran waves a hand in the air. "Grim? Fighting darkspawn in the dark corners of the world?"

"Well, yes, but--it's needful, you know? It really  _ helps _ people."

"It sounds rather loathesome. Noble, but loathesome."

"Yeah, but noble." Alistair grins. "It's been really great, so far."

"I do approve." Zevran wraps an arm around his waist, making them much more intimately close than previously.

"Oh." The sound Alistair makes is almost a giggle as Zevran catches his ticklish spots. "Hi."

"And here I was worrying how frightfully dull you might be! It's wonderful, really. I'm sure we'll have a splendid time. You do like sushi, yes?"

Alistair’s look goes a little blank. "Uh…yes, of course, who doesn't like sushi? That sounds great!"

"If you are particularly eager, we can skip it altogether."

And that adds a shade of terror. "No! I'm… just  _ so _ hungry."

"Sometimes things are better when they move slowly," Zevran says. "Though I do hope the sushi does not move terribly slow."

"Yes, the sooner the better, with the--the sushi." He tries to sound like he knows what he’s talking about.

Zevran laughs. "We are almost there, do not fear. It is close by. Where do you come from?"

"Ferelden, Redcliffe. And by the accent, I'd guess you're Antivan?"

"Orlesian through and through," Zevran says with a straight face.

"Thankfully not!"

He laughs. "Thank the Maker for that."

"So, how long have you been living here in Skyhold?" Alistair asks. “You look familiar with the place.”

"About two years now. Not a very long time, but I've come to find the place quite charming. And you?"

"Just got here! We left Weisshaupt a few months ago."

"That far, really?"

Alistair nods. "I was Joined there."

"I must admit, I don't know much of what Joining entails."

"That's because it's mostly a secret. Suffice to say, it's intense. You swear an oath, there's blood… that kind of stuff."

"Sounds like my sort of thing," Zevran says in a low voice. "Some nights, at least."

"It involves drinking and passing out, too but that doesn't mean it's a party atmosphere."

"I was not discussing parties, but I can always adapt."

"It was an analogy. Maker, I  _ am _ hungry!" So much so that he's almost looking forward to raw fish.

"I do love a man with a voracious appetite," Zevran purrs, halting before a small shop with a neon sign over the door. "And here we are."

"Well, I guess you came to the right place," Alistair says, then goes painfully red again.

"Come, come, let us eat. I too am starving."

"Okay. It's time to come clean. Listen, I've got to tell you something."

"You are a virgin?"

"Oh, Maker's breath." Alistair covers his mouth with his hand, then breathes a sigh. "I mean, yes. But I was just going to tell you I've never had sushi."

Zevran raises an eyebrow. "You do not have a fish allergy, do you?"

"No, not that  I know of."

"You do not find the thought of sushi appetizing?"

"N--just that I'll be counting on your recommendations, that's all."

"I have very good tastes."

"Good! Good." Alistair laughs. "I'm so nervous. I must be making myself look like a buffoon."

"Marginally better than your entrance this morning."

"What a first impression!"

Zevran leads him into the sushi bar. "It was certainly memorable."

He laughs. "I'm so sorry."

"There are worse words to have than 'caramel latte.'"

"Do you know how many internet searches I've done for 'Skyline Cafe'?"

"And yet we do not have a website," Zevran says. “It’s never been one of Bull’s priorities.”

"No! Not even a Yelp page."

"And so you found us by chance."

"In a complete hectic rush, on my way to the doctor."

"Ah. The doctor. Table for two, please," Zevran says to the waiter, who leads them to a windowside table. It's early for dinner, so the place is nearly empty.

"Just, you know. A routine physical. It's because of the Joining."

"Strange blood ritual causes odd aches and pains? Ah, water for me, please."

"Something like that. Um, I'll have a beer--do you mind, if I…?"

"Go ahead. I have no problems."

"Okay. I'll have a beer." He could use the liquid courage.

"So," Zevran starts once the waiter's gone. "Any hobbies?"

"Well…" Alistair looks down. "You'll think it's silly."

"I do not think so."

"I sort of…collect figures."

"That is not odd,” Zevran says. “What sorts?"

"Oh, all kinds. I especially like the little magicked ones."

"Oh?"

"They're sort of like little automatons, they move and such."

"Oh yes, those ones." Zevran smiles. "That is charming."

"Oh, and ones of magical things! Like demons, guardian spirits…"

"Little magical demons to watch you while you sleep?"

"That sounds creepy," Alistair says, just a touch defensive.

"Yes."

"I hadn't really thought of it that way. I just think they're neat."

"They probably are, though I find the thought of the demon ones a little unsettling."

"Yeah, I mean--they're not supposed to look nice, but the workmanship is amazing," Alistair says,

"And you have an entire collection?" Zevran asks.

"Not a big one, but yes."

"I'll have to see it sometime."

"You should. What about you, what do you do in your spare time?" Alistair asks.

"Things. Stuff. People." Zevran grins and the water comes by to hand them their drinks. "A few more minutes, if you will," he tells them, picking up the menu to fiddle with it.

"So here is where I begin to rely on your help. What should I get?" Alistair asks, poking at the menu and squinting at the pictures.

"You can try the eel roll if you would prefer something cooked."

"No, I want to be brave."

"The one with octopus and Antivan chilis, then."

"That sounds… really adventurous."

"Or the one with cream cheese, salmon, and avocado. That one is popular. Ah, but not the ones with crab. I am not certain about the crab meat they serve here. Everything else is fresh, but the crab..." Zevran makes a face.

"That sounds more manageable."

"Where do you tend to eat? Here, or anywhere, I suppose. You said you haven’t been here long."

"There's this pub most of the Wardens go to. Nothing fancy, just… greasy pub stuff," Alistair says, shrugging.

"I grew up on that stuff. It... Well, it is food."

"It is. It is food."

Zevran waves a waiter over. "Are you in Skyhold for the long term?"

Alistair nods. "Barring extreme circumstances, this is where I'm stationed."

"Excellent, that gives us plenty of time. Ah, we'd like one Antivan Roll and one Val Royeaux."

"Ooh, what're those?"

"The rolls we picked out," Zevran says, watching the waiter walk off. "Yours is the Orlesian one."

"With the cream cheese?"

"Yes. Orlais has decent food, at the very least."

"There's that, I suppose."

"And Ferelden has  _ very _ decent men."

"We've got to have something,” Alistair flirts back. “The food can't compete."

"And I'm certain dogs are an acquired taste."

"A taste worth acquiring, though."

"Mm, and now I am stuck with two of you."

"Your other is Fereldan too? What are the odds?"

"And he seems to have..." Zevran frowns. "Both of his others are Fereldan. My luck is quite terrible, it seems."

"Not fond of us?"

"I am very fond of you,” Zevran says, eyeing his chest. “I am not fond of your dogs."

"Well, I haven't got one, if that helps. A dog."

"I do like birds, though."

"I haven't got one of those either."

"I do not like them shrieking at dawn, so I will count that as a benefit."

"Okay, so things aren't too bad so far."

"Hm. Yes. Well." Zevran rests his chin on the backs of his hands. "Favorite music?"

"Oh, I don't know. Um, Foo Fighters, Pearl Jam, stuff like that, I guess."

"Mm. Oh, I suppose I should tell you: I have a boyfriend."

"Well, yeah, I mean I figured from the--wait.” Alistair furrows his eyebrows. “You mean  _ besides _ your soulmate?"

Zevran nods. "I have only just met my other soulmate. I have been with my boyfriend for a while."

"Oh. I see."

"Is that a problem?"

"No. I mean--if I ever find my other, I'll be seeing multiple people too, so it would be rather hypocritical," Alistair says.

"It bothers some people to have someone who is not a soulmate involved," Zevran says cautiously.

"I don't really know how I feel about it, honestly, but… I don't think it's right to make any demands. If you're happy, I'm happy."

"Excellent! I will begin arrangements for the orgy." Zevran grins, clearly teasing.

Alistair laughs, blushing. "One thing at a time, please!"

Zevran sighs dramatically. "I'll cross that off my calendar, then."

"We'll you've got a backup plan. That's one advantage of having two soulmates already."

"I doubt the other would be interested. You two seem very alike, though he blushes less frequently."

"Well, then it's a good thing you have a boyfriend."

"Yes, I suppose." Zevran blushes himself as he realizes that, assuming Alistair and Jack really are soulmates, that means they may very well end up in quite a number of threesomes. "Ah, our sushi is here."

"Oh good! Something to put in my mouth that isn't my foot."

"I can give you--nevermind." Zevran picks up his own chopsticks to poke at the sushi.

"I feel like this is going to be interesting."

"The food? Certainly." Zevran's is much more red and spicy-looking than Alistair's, but he plops a piece in his mouth and chews without issue.

Alistair takes his cues from Zevran and puts a piece of his in his mouth, chewing slowly, then swallowing. "Interesting."

"Good interesting?"

"Yeah, I like it."

"Good! I would hate to have brought you out to a terrible first dinner."

A few raindrops begin to fall outside, splattering on the windows, and there's a low rumble of thunder.

"Not at all. It's been an adventure. Ooh, and a storm now, too."

"All the more reason to remain in the warmth together."

"I like how you think."

"They have nice desserts here, too," Zevran says, picking up another piece. "And entrees, if you are interested in a full dinner."

"I'm definitely interested in dessert."

Zevran waggles his eyebrows and chews on the sushi.

"You like sweets?"

"I am not terribly partial to them,” Zevran says, “but they are pleasant."

"What are you partial to?"

"Food-wise? Seafood and spice."

"Well, I hope you like to cook, if both your soulmates are Fereldan."

Zevran laughs fully and takes a drink. "I cannot say my skills are anything to boast about, but I can usually make something at least salvageable."

"I learned to cook at a Chantry, so."

"My condolences."

"Well… it's food."

"And I, at least, can make a decent cup of coffee."

"Now, that's a bonus."

"How many points am I at, then?"

"I wasn't keeping track. I think you're doing well, though."

"That is good news."

"How about me?" Alistair’s smile falters a little, betraying that he's actually worried about the answer.

"You are doing wonderfully," Zevran says reassuringly. "Do not worry about that."

"Well. That's a relief."

"The only point against you is being Fereldan and liking dogs. Which... rather appears to be my type," Zevran says dryly.

"Who's the other one?"

"Jack, the large man who made your coffee earlier." He says it casually, trying not to seem like he's hiding something.

"Oh. Wow, I never would have guessed."

"I only met him a few weeks ago. It was... interesting."

"Not bad interesting, I hope," Alistair says.

"Certainly not! Simply... Well, as said before, everyone meeting their soulmates at once."

"I wonder if that luck will rub off on me."

Zevran's heart skips a beat. "Perhaps."

"That would be fun."

The thunder grows louder and rain pours down harder, a few heavy drops hitting the windows loudly. "I wish you luck."

"I guess I'm going to have to meet him, aren't I. Your other soulmate."

"And my boyfriend." Zevran grins. "Come around tomorrow around 1 for our lunch break?"

"I will if I can get away!"

"Excellent! I'll warn Jack ahead of time. He can get a little shy, I think."

"Oh, well I wouldn't want to upset him."

Zevran laughs quietly. "I do not think you would."

"I'll have to introduce you to some of the other Wardens, sometime."

"I would like that, I think, though I am still meeting you."

"Yeah, of course, we can finish that part first."

"Of course. Well, then--favorite movie?"


	6. Chapter 6

Around the same time that Zevran and Alistair are getting to know each other, Jack receives a call on his cell, having just returned to his apartment after work. The sun is starting to set, and the apartment smells a little stale from keeping the windows closed. The ring pierces the silence, a strange sound in this quiet room.

Jack pulls the phone out of his pocket, clearing his throat. "Hello?" he answers, curious; most anyone he knows is aware that he prefers to text.

"Jack?" Cyrnarel asks, voice tired and touched with stress. "You off work?"

"Uhh. Uh huh."

"You got a car? I was gonna take the bus back, but it broke down." Pause. "Right, shit. I'm at the hospital on east 22nd street. We can text now if you want."

"Uhh," he says again, then, "Text now," and then he hangs up. A moment later, he sends a text: _ "No car." _

_ "Sry for bothering u" _ comes the response a half-minute later.

Another minute goes by, then:  _ "Jowan has 1. C u soon." _

_ "K" _ is the only response Jack gets, followed a few minutes later by a full address.

Jack rousts Jowan and, though it takes a little while to get there, the rather elderly teal sedan reliably pulls up to the hospital. The window shudders its way down, and Jack leans out of the passenger side. "Hi?"

After about a minute of nothing but the patter of rain, a small figure in a black raincoat shuffles out of the building, jogging over to the car. The rain is still pouring down heavily, and they splash through a few puddles on their way before hopping into the back, having recognized Jack from a few feet away.

Cyrnarel pulls the door shut with a groan, leaning their head back against the headrest as water drips off of them. "Thanks," they say, catching their breath.

"No problem," comes in a chorus both from Jack's iPad and from Jowan.

Jowan looks back at Cyrnarel. "So you're a friend of Jack's?" He asks innocently, slowly driving back across the parking lot. "Do you work at the cafe?"

"Yeah. No." They pull their hood down, running a finger through their hair, which has gotten wet regardless. "Sorry for the bother."

"It's no trouble at all. Where to?"

"My house. Um. It's on Ash Street,” Cyrnarel says. They straighten up, brushing water off their sleeves.

"Okay. Just… let me know if I start getting lost."

"Yeah, sure. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Really. A friend of Jack's is a friend of mine."

Cyrnarel eyes him, then looks at Jack. It's not like they've really been friends lately. With no response, the car falls into silence. Jowan clears his throat. Jack just tips sideways against the window, looking up and out at the water falling on the glass.

"You're Jack's roommate?" Cyrnarel asks, too uncomfortable with the quiet.

"Yeah. We grew up together, at the Circle in Ferelden."

"Oh. Um. I don't work at the cafe, actually. But my bonded owns the place."

"Oh, that's great." Jowan’s voice drops a little right at the end as he puts two and two together.

Cyrnarel goes quiet again, sitting back in the seat and feeling even guiltier about all this.

"I should come by sometime," Jowan continues, voice a little high with tension. "I hear it's really good."

"Yeah. I guess." They gaze out the window as if trapped.

"Is it true that the owner does all the baking himself?" 

"Yeah, cause he's a dolt,” Cyrnarel says.

"Is he good at it?"

"He's definitely good at it," Jack says.

"Yeah, 'n he likes it," Cyrnarel says. “Somehow.”

"It must be nice, finding what you really love to do, and being able to do it," Jowan says wistfully.

"It's not really his life's ambition or anything."

"But at least he likes it."

"Yeah. He does," Cyrnarel says. “And he’s his own boss.”

"I mean, I work at a call center," Jowan says. "It's not the most fun I've ever had."

"That sounds like shit. Not a place I'd want to work."

"The pay isn't bad, and I get commission. We're getting by. That's good-- _ great _ , really."

"Yeah, sounds good.” Cyrnarel pulls a tissue out of their bag to dab at their makeup. “I hear the Circles aren't very good at providing life skills."

"Not really." Jowan sighs. “Like we’re doomed to these sorts of jobs.”

"And then if you can't make it on your own, they act like that proves something," Jack adds.

"Sounds about right. Oh, here--my house is on the left side, that one down there--light blue." Though it's not easy to make out the color through the rain, there's an unlit house there, one of many houses with tiny yards down the street at this edge of town. It has a tree out front, half of the leaves already fallen and the rest all shades of orange and brown.

Jowan slows down, and pulls up to the curb in front of the house. "This one?"

"Yeah, this is it." They pull up their hood. "Thanks for the ride."

"Not a problem. Take care."

"Bye," Jack says, grateful that his text-to-speech can't translate wistfulness.

"Bye," Cyrnarel says, hopping out the car.

They fish through their pockets for their keys as they approach, taking a much longer time than anticipated, and... Nothing. No keys. They try the door in case it's unlocked, but of course it's locked; they locked it themself earlier.

They've already taken the spare key and they know this lock is an absolute pain to pick--particularly with the rain and their currently unsteady hands--which leaves them standing out in the pouring rain staring at a door that won't open.

Jack nudges Jowan, who rolls his window down. "Hey! Everything okay?"

They look back at the car. "It's fine," they say half heartedly. "Everything's fine."

"Is your, uh, bonded not home?"

"He's out of town. It's fine, really." Cyrnarel looks back at the front door, mind blanking on alternatives.

"Are you missing your keys?"

They hesitate. "Yeah."

"…come on, get back in the car."

They hesitate again, then make their way back to the car, shoulders slumped. Their hair's a frazzled, wet mess, and they look somewhere between dazed and ready to cry.

Jowan clicks the door unlock, though it's already unlocked. "Do you think you left them at the doctor's?"

Cyrnarel climbs into the back seat. "No. I don't know. I don't remember."

"Well, that seems like the logical place to check. And if you do end up having to call a locksmith, you might as well do it from someplace dry."

"If the hospital's still open." They sigh. "Bull will be home sometime tomorrow. It'll be fine."

"Well, we can check, at least."

"I guess. I'm sorry for the trouble."

"Like I said, don't worry about it."

They slump down a little further. "Alright. Thanks."

"You could sleep on our couch," Jack ventures almost timidly. "I mean. Just if you can't get in."

"...I'll think about it,” Cyrnarel says. “If it's not a bother."

"It's no bother. It's not like anyone else is using the couch," Jack says.

"...alright."

* * *

 

As it turns out, the hospital is closed, only the ER wing remaining open and lit up.

"Damn." Jowan slaps the steering wheel lightly. "Do you want to try a locksmith?"

"It's only a night. I can go somewhere else." Mahanon and Dorian might have some space.

"Locksmiths are expensive anyway," Jack says. "Just stay on our couch. Jowan made tuna casserole."

"If... If that's alright."

"It's fine." Truth be told, Jack would rather  _ not _ have Cyrnarel in his home again so soon, but he's not about to let them go back out into the rain. Especially since he suspects that if they couldn't find a space, they wouldn't tell anyone about it or ask for help.

"Alright then. Thanks." It's very uncomfortable for them as well, but they don't want to desperately call about for a place to stay.

"Sure." Jack leans back against the window for the remainder of the drive. Cyrnarel remains quiet, leaving them once more with only the hum of the car and splash of the rain. Eventually Jowan turns on the radio, keeping the volume low, just to have something to listen to. 

They arrive at the building a few minutes later. "Pray the elevator's working," Jack says wryly.

"Please." Cyrnarel has had a miserable enough day.

"I have a good feeling," Jowan says with exaggerated cheer. "We're going to be lucky today. It's a lucky day."

Cyrnarel gives him an odd look before stepping out of the car and straight into a puddle. "Agh!"

"Really lucky," Jack says, before closing his iPad to tuck it under his jacket. Once he's out in the car and they're headed for the building, he begins signing to Jowan, his facial expression becoming significantly more mobile to complete the signs. Cyrnarel lags behind a few feet to give them some privacy, watching the ground for any more puddles and cursing under their breath.

Jowan falls a couple of steps back, apparently having finished his conversation. “I'm going to lend you some clothes, all right? They'll be a little big, but…well, I'm closer to your size than Jack is, unless you  _ like _ swimming in T-shirts."

"Dunno. Guess you haven’t met Bull. But… Thanks." They'd decline, but their own clothes are soaked by now.

"You can take a shower, too, if you want, and dinner should still be hot."

“Oh, no,” Cyrnarel says, “I couldn’t. You’re being real nice already, and I don’t want to...”

"Hey, don't worry." Jowan reaches out as if to pat their shoulder, but pulls back at the last moment. "Anything for a friend in need, yeah? We might be living like first-year college students with no life skills, but we're still hospitable."

"Should've seen my first year in the city. It was kind of a mess.”

"You might be reliving it in a few minutes." Jowan laughs.

"I haven't been invited to anyone's bed yet, so at least that's different."

His smile fades a little. "Jack's… not pushy. He doesn't rush."

Cyrnarel’s face heats a little. "It's a joke, yeah? Don't think on it."

"I can't help but think on it a little. He's like a brother to me."

"So you know?" They glance at Jowan’s face, searching.

"Yeah, I know,” Jowan says. “Don't hold it against him. It's not like he was gossiping, we just…tell each other most things."

"No, 's fine. You're friends."

"More like family."

"Brothers," they venture.

"Right. He was…really little when he came to the Circle, and he was having a really hard time, and he couldn't talk… It seemed like he needed someone. In all my seven-year-old wisdom, I took it upon myself."

"It’s hard to imagine him being little," Cyrnarel says.

"Yeah. He was five."

"He must've had one hell of a growth spurt."

"Oh yeah. He was shorter than me for quite a long time, and then it sort of…all happened at once," Jowan says.

"That sounds terrifying."

"It's more…frustrating, when you're seventeen and still five foot six."

Cyrnarel pats his shoulder. "Least you got that tall."

"On the other hand we didn't have to deal with the growing-pains," Jowan says.

"Small price."

"He'd cry all night, sometimes. Eventually he started looking after me, instead of the other way around."

"The Circle was hard, yeah? Past just growing up, I mean."

Jowan nods. "I mean, at first, they thought he wasn't going to amount to anything--it was just a matter of how long until he was made Tranquil. Then he sort of became the star pupil, and they realized I was the one who was never going to amount to anything."

"Circles are shit."

"Yeah, well. It was better than being home.” Jowan sighs, entering the building with Cyrnarel as Jack holds the door open for them, both of them giving him a murmured ‘thanks.’ "My mother stopped speaking to me when my magic manifested. She'd tell my father, 'get that thing away from me.' At least some people at the Circle were kind."

"Ah. That's... rough. Family should care for you."

"Yeah. Well, that's why we sort of…made our own."

"I'm glad for that," Cyrnarel says. “You deserve it.”

"I’m glad, too. You know, he'd mostly given up on finding his soulmates."

"Can we not talk about this?" Cyrnarel says, face suddenly tight.

"…yeah. Sorry."

"It's alright, just... I'd rather not."

"Okay."  Jowan fiddles with his ponytail, feeling awkward. “Sorry.”

The elevator, fortunately, is working. Jack and Jowan live on the fourth floor; the building is fairly seedy, but decently clean, and the apartment itself is relatively neat.

"Welcome," Jowan says, even though he knows Cyrnarel has been here before.

"Thanks," Cyrnarel says. They're slowly creating a new puddle inside the apartment. "I, uh. Sorry."

"Towel," Jack says, feeling a sense of deja vu as he fetches one and hands it over. "Bathroom, there." He points.

"Ah, thanks." They hang their coat on a rack (where it continues to make puddles) and accept the towel, heading into the bathroom.

The coat gets another towel (more of a cleaning rag, really) underneath it, and Jowan moves to the kitchen to set out some food, while Jack starts digging up some bedding to put on the couch.

Cyrnarel emerges a little drier than before, though their clothes are still wet. They've taken off their shoes and socks, which they carry over to place near their jacket, walking about with thankfully dry feet. Their right glove is off, but left one remains on, damp but wrung out.

Cyrnarel approaches Jack in the living area. "I'm sorry about before, Jack. I was... a dick." They frown. "I think I was apologizing for being a dick too, then. But... you're right. Your decision, yeah?"

Jack, who is in the middle of plumping a pillow, stands upright, turning pink. "Um. Yeah. It's… okay," he says aloud.

Cyrnarel nods, tucking a stray hair behind their ear. "More talking, maybe. Less... whatever."

Jack reaches for his iPad. "Less…hiding from each other?"

"I haven't really been hiding, but... yeah." They've just been coming up with excuses to not be at the cafe during Jack's breaks. Which, in hindsight, seems to be hiding.

"Yeah," he says, well aware that it was, in fact, hiding, but opting to let it go. "Okay."

"Yeah." Cyrnarel sit down on a seat in the kitchen. "Work's been alright?"

"It's been good. Awkward here and there."

"Awkward?"

"I sort of met my third soulmate, and I…still haven't said anything to him."

"Oh.” Cyrnarel frowns. “Oh."

"What?"

"You don't know what words he's got."

"No," Jack says.

"That's a lot of pressure,” Cyrnarel says. “When are you gonna talk to him?"

"I don’t know. Every time I see him, I freeze up," Jack says.

"Just talk to him."

"I don't know how."

"Have Dorian introduce you. Or Zevran. They love to talk."

"Yeah. I'll ask,” Jack says. “What if it's just something useless like 'hi,' though? He could have heard it a hundred times. He might not even realize I'm the right 'hi.' If I even am."

"What about 'hi, I'm Jack'?” Cyrnarel leans forward. “When did you see him, anyway?"

"He came in this morning. Zevran talked to him."

"And he talked to you?" Cyrnarel asks.

"Just to change his order," Jack says.

"Oh. Well. 'Hi, I'm Jack, I made you coffee the other day.' Bull's never complained about his words."

"What are his?"

"A coffee order," they say wryly. 

"Nice."

"And it means his name'd be on you. Er, your name'd be on him. Long day." Cyrnarel rubs their left arm, then pulls out their phone and places it flat on the table, typing something with their right hand.

"I'll try it."

"Yeah. Good luck." They pocket their phone and lean back in their seat.

"You can shower, if you want to,” Jack says. “Jowan will loan you something dry to wear."

"That would be nice."

"There's food, too. You want some dinner?"

"After a shower, I think. I'm a mess." And the hot water would help their arm.

"Okay. Hang on." Jack stands up. "Jowan! I'm going in your room."

"Okay," Jowan calls back.

"Something with long sleeves, please," Cyrnarel tells Jack quietly.

"Okay."

Jack returns with a pair of pajama pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt which reads 'Entropy Mages Do It Better.’ "Okay?"

Cyrnarel lifts an eyebrow, lips quirking up. "Cheesy. It'll work."

"Good." Jack grins and hands the clothes over.

"Thanks." They accept them and head back into the bathroom for a shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow us on tumblr as users [lynxeon](http://lynxeon.tumblr.com/) and [j4ckwynand](http://j4ckwynand.tumblr.com/).


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I don't update often. There's not much interest, it seems, so I only update rarely.

Once Cyrnarel is finished showering, they emerge, looking refreshed, if tired. Their damp hair sticks up in all directions and they've got their wet clothes draped over their arm, glove remaining on their left hand. Jowan’s clothes fit them loosely but not terribly, looking rather homely on them, the ends of the pants rolled up.

Jack smiles at them. "Food?" He's got a bowl of his own, eating on the coffee table in front of the couch. Jowan is seated beside him with his own dinner.

"Yes, please. Um, my clothes..." They gesture with their arm.

Jack rolls upright and fetches Cyrnarel a bowl, which they set down on the table. "I can see if we have any quarters for the dryer."

"If there's a place for them to hang that'll do."

"Okay."

“The coat rack,” Jowan says, starting to stand, but Cyrnarel waves their hand at him.

“No, don’t worry,” they say. “You eat.”

Jack returns to his spot on the floor in front of the couch. Once the clothes are hung up, Cyrnarel takes their bowl and sits down on the couch hesitantly, and Jack tentatively smiles up at them.

They smile back at him and start to eat. "I'll make it up to you both sometime."

"Don't worry about it," Jowan says, grinning. He's picking up less tension from Jack, and it's a relief.

"You're both really nice, yeah? I was gonna have to walk back in the rain, or try and find some place to sleep." They grimace and look out the window. "Rather not do that." The rain is still pouring heavily outside, thunder rumbling and light flashing on occasion.

"It's not safe out tonight," Jack says. "Do you want to watch TV? I like  _ How It’s Made _ ."

"Sure, we can watch that. I don't really watch TV except for the news."

"Okay." He grins, pleased to have gotten their approval, and reaches for the remote.

"It's pretty good, actually," Jowan remarks. "It's really interesting."

"It sounds like some of those boring documentaries," they say doubtfully, picking up their fork again. "Not that I'd mind if it is."

"It's sort of soothing. This one's a rerun. Aluminum foil," Jowan says.

"...Aluminum foil?" That sounds terribly dull.

"Mmhm."

"I like to watch the machines go," Jack says dreamily.

Cyrnarel looks at Jack uncertainly. They’ve hardly met the man, but their interests don’t seem to mesh. "A bit calmer than the news," they say.

"Jack hates watching the news," Jowan says. 

"It's sad," Jowan says.

"It's important," Cyrnarel says. "Oh, and sometimes I watch hockey. Bull likes hockey."

"I like hockey," Jowan says, brightening a little. Jack makes a noise of distaste.

Cyrnarel looks at Jack. "Not a fan?"

"Boring and complicated. Why watch hockey when you could play hockey?"

"Then we can play hockey. Up at the gym, they've got gear and everything."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I can skate, Mahanon can skate, Bull might make it work--oh." Their voice drops. "I... can't skate. Nevermind."

Jack looks crushed. "Why not?"

"I, uh. My arm.” Cyrnarel puts down their spoon and pats their left arm. “It's healing and I can't injure it again or it'll get even more fucked up."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"I've never played hockey anyway. I can skate fine, though. My doctor forbade skating specifically. Not sure why, but it came to mind, I guess. I could do tennis 'n shit though."

"I've never played tennis," Jack says.

"It's fun. We could... we could go play it sometime, before it gets too cold."

Jack looks almost hopeful. "You'll teach me?"

"Yeah, sure. It takes some getting used to, but it's not hard. It'll be fun." They frown again. "Unless it's too much exertion. I haven't played any sports since... Nevermind." They look disappointed.

"We don't have to play hard."

"Might still be too much. We'll see." Cyrnarel sighs, putting their half eaten meal on the table.

"You can ask your doctor."

"Yeah. I'll ask."

"All right." Jack beams hopefully.

It's not long before Cyrnarel finds themself getting drowsy, the voice on the tv making them sleepy despite the early hour. Their eyelids droop as they sit on the couch and they let out a yawn.

"Should we go to bed? So you can sleep?" Jack's eyes are still fixed on the television, as if hypnotized.

It takes them a moment to register that. "No, it's fine," they mumble.

"You're falling asleep."

"I’m not," they insist stubbornly.

"Well, I'm going to bed," Jowan says with a yawn. "See you two tomorrow."

"See you," Cyrnarel says, yawning again.

Jack leans back against the seat of the couch. "This is nice," he says aloud, his voice a little slurred.

"Hmm?" They look over at him, still sleepy.

"Nice. Just sitting."

"Mm. Yeah."

"Yeah." He smiles, then lapses back into silence.

"You're good, Jack," they say after a minute. "I think--I don't know. Maybe."

"Mm?"

"We could make things work out. Maybe."

"Maybe. No hurry."

"No hurry,” Cyrnarel says, speaking hastily. “But you're nice. And solid. That's nice too."

"Solid," Jack echoes.

There’s a moment’s pause. "I didn't say that," Cyrnarel says, mortified. "I did not say that."

"Yes, you did," Jack says, not understanding.

"Noooo. I did not say that." They cover their face with their hands. "Maybe I need sleep."

Jack accepts that. "Okay." Obligingly, he turns the TV off.

"I'll see you in the morning, I guess,” Cyrnarel says. “Or not. You at work early tomorrow?"

"Or not." Jack frowns and reaches for his iPad again. "I'm not working tomorrow."

"Oh. I guess maybe. Unless you want me gone early, I can do that. Does your hair stick up in the morning?"

"Yeah, it does."

"Oh. That's nice."

"I have to get it wet, to make it behave."

"Yeah. Short hair. I like mine a little longer," Cyrnarel says.

"It looks nice."

"So's yours."

"Thanks."

They smile and yawn again. "Yeah."

"Maybe I'll make breakfast."

"Sleep first."

"Yeah." Jack stands slowly, stretching and closing his tablet. "G'night."

"Night. See you in the morning." They set about fixing up sheets on the couch to sleep.

* * *

When Jack emerges in the morning, he finds Cyrnarel curled up on the couch, a necklace with a large, sharp tooth sitting on the table. There's a metal object on the floor glinting in the light but mostly covered by the edge of the sheets. Jack wanders around sleepily in his boxers, and does no more than glance at the various things before shuffling into the kitchen.

Cyrnarel remains asleep as Jack putters about, a heavy sleeper even in the morning. Jack mutters to himself a little, echoing, and takes things in and out of the refrigerator. Once he's a little more awake, he starts breakfast.

The smell of food cooking makes Cyrnarel stir, shifting on the couch as they begin to wake up. Jack has begun singing quietly to himself as he scrambles eggs, using a liberal amount of butter.

Cyrnarel groans once they're at least half awake, blinking blearily. They push themselves up to a half-sitting position and squint at Jack, a scowl on their face. They sit there for a solid half minute before saying anything. "You're naked," they say, still blinking.

"Nuh uh!" Jack indicates his boxers, eyes still fixed on the eggs.

Cyrnarel groans. Of course they saw that, but their vocabulary is still trying to piece itself together. "You're half naked. Hi."

"Hi. Good morning."

"Morning. Good. Yes." They yawn, sitting up fully. Their left arm appears to have limited mobility, though it's hard to tell with the sheets. "Ugh. Morning."

"Do you like eggs?"

"Yeah, they're good."

"I'm making eggs. You can have some."

"Oh. Thanks." Cyrnarel frowns. "No dairy?"

"You can't eat dairy?"

"Can't." They run their fingers through their hair, trying to sort it out so that it looks somewhat decent. "You look nice," they blurt out.

"Thanks." Jack bends down, getting another pan for Cyrnarel’s eggs.

Cyrnarel yawns and stretches, groaning again. "You a morning person?" With their adjusted position, their left arm is now above the sheets, sleeve crumpled and flat past their elbow. Jack glances at their arm when he looks back at them.

"It's more that I just give up on sleeping at around five or six,” Jack says, typing on his iPad, propped up on the counter.

"Don't sleep well?"

"Not really. Sometimes I just watch TV all night."

"Oh,” Cyrnarel says. “That sounds kind of miserable."

"You get used to it. Sometimes Jowan lets me stay with him."

"Oh. Like sleeping in the same bed?"

"…Yeah." Jack reddens a little. "Sorry. I know that's weird."

"It's not that weird."

"It kind of is, but…thanks for saying so."

"No, I don't think it's weird. Not typical, but." They shrug.

Jack smiles a little. "I'm not typical very much."

"Neither am I."

"Well, that's something. We match."

They chuckle. "We don't match at all physically. Thankfully."

"You don't think I'd be cute if I was small?"

Cyrnarel tilts their head. "I think I have a type."

"I can't compete with the Bull at all." Jack laughs. "He must be ten feet tall!"

"Creators, no, he'd be twice my height! You're still pretty large, pretty--ah--solid." Their cheeks heat up, but this time they did mean to say it. It's hard not to flirt when their soulmate is prancing around in underwear making breakfast for them.

Jack ducks his head a little, smile turning shy. "You like that?"

Cyrnarel laughs quietly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Thanks."

"Now, if you try to cook pastries, that's where you'll have to get competitive."

"I have no idea how to cook pastries." Jack piles a steaming heap of scrambled eggs onto a plate and carries it over to Cyrnarel. "No butter." He returns to the kitchen for his own eggs and tablet.

They take the plate, shifting so they're sitting on the couch normally and placing the plate on their legs. They're very self-conscious of their arm, back tensing as Jack sits next to them to eat his own eggs. "Thanks."

Cyrnarel eats their eggs hungrily, finishing off half the plate in only a minute thanks to having only eaten half their dinner last night, feeling much better this morning. "You like cooking?"

"Not really. I just can't make Jowan do it all the time. It wouldn't be fair."

"Well, it's not bad."

"Thanks. I've been practicing. I worked kitchen at the Circle sometimes."

"Didn't like it?" Cyrnarel asks.

"It's kind of different. You sort of make big trays of everything."

"Right, cause you've got to feed everyone."

"Right."

Cyrnarel takes a deep breath. "Jack, do you think any less of me?" they ask bluntly.

Jack’s eyebrows furrow. "Less of you? No. What for?"

They give a small sigh and raise their left arm, half of the sleeve hanging limply at their elbow.

"Oh, that,” he says aloud. “No."

They drop their arm back down. "Really?"

"Yes.” Jack returns to typing. “It probably makes some things harder, but it doesn't make you bad."

"It's not something people tend to accept."

"I've given up on understanding that."

"People don't like differences. You deal with it too, just differently, yeah?"

"Yes."

They hum, poking at the remaining bits of egg. "So... What do you want?"

"What do you mean?" Jack frowns. Are they really going down this road again?

"I don't know what you're interested in. What you want to do. If... If you want to go anywhere. With this. Whatever." Cyrnarel mumbles at the end, forking eggs into their mouth.

"I don't really know myself."

"Oh. Well. Um. No pressure."

"I want to…see where things go,” Jack says. “With all of you."

"...Right. You've got two others. You met them yet?"

"Yeah. The one I have talked to and the one I haven't."

"Oh. Do I know them?" Cyrnarel asks.

"Well, the one just came in the shop yesterday, remember. The other one--I can’t say."

"Oh. Okay." They're not really thrilled at not knowing, and it hurts, but they'll give him his privacy.

"I will. We will. Soon." It's not Jack’s own privacy he's concerned about, though.

"Okay. Well." They place their plate on the table, food mostly eaten. "I... have never done a slow relationship."

"I haven't really done any relationship."

"Something new for both of us, then."

"Yeah."

A soft smile grows across their face. "My words."

"What?"

"'You ever been to Kirkwall, shem?'"

"You can see it," Jack says, remembering that he's not wearing a shirt.

They nod. "And hold the whip, and handsome and capable. That's a good one."

"The ones I've said have been awful."

"Hey, not the one I've got."

"'I was born there'? How dull."

"Well, it's not terrible,” Cyrnarel says. “Not as bad as 'My number's on the house.'"

"That's kind of cute."

"Bull had my order on him, so he knew it was me first."

"Maybe that's what I should do with this Alistair,” Jack says. “Take the opportunity to say something really charming."

"Alistair, huh?"

"That's his name. He told Zevran."

"Hope you'll have a chance to chat with him soon then."

"I should say…he's handsome. No, cute. No..."

"Or say your name," Cyrnarel says thoughtfully.

"Or both! It's a shame you other two both asked me questions, which I answered. Boringly."

"Least there's no doubt, yeah? Just say whatever feels right."

"It could be one-sided," Jack says.

"Doesn't mean it can't work out."

"I guess that's true." Jack frowns. "Do you think I'm… greedy?"

"Greedy? No, not at all. You're lucky. Or... Nevermind."

"Mm?"

Cyrnarel shakes their head. "It's nothing."

"Okay. My other one is very mysterious too. They…talk a lot, but they don't  _ say _ much. And I'm pretty sure that's on purpose."

"Sounds like a lot of people I know."

"Kinda sucks for me."

"Why?" Cyrnarel asks.

"I'm not great at deciphering people."

"It might just take time before they open up."

"Yeah. I can be patient."

"Yeah. Well." Cyrnarel gives him a get tentative smile. "I don't think I want to hide things from you. Or be weird or whatever."

"I can keep secrets. You don't have to worry about that."

"I'm not worried about that." Cyrnarel's phone goes off, jarring them with the noise. They grab it off of the table and answer it without looking to see who it is. "Hello?" Jack returns to the kitchen to give them some privacy, washing out a few dishes while he's in there.

Cyrnarel talks quietly on the phone, and within a few minutes they're finished, placing their phone back on the table.

Jack reappears not long afterward. "Need anything?"

"No, I'm alright. Bull just wanted to check in on me."

"Oh. How's he doing? The cafe's kind of weird without him."

"He's alright. Told me to get laid already." They roll their eyes. "He'll be there this afternoon."

Jack reddens. "He said that?"

"You're surprised?"

"A little bit. I mean, he's my boss."

Cyrnarel laughs. "It's, ah. Really in line with his personality, actually. He's very... open. Blunt."

"Oh." Jack blinks. "It's just--I know he's been watching me ever since he found out about you and me. I've been kind of… keeping my nose down."

Cyrnarel blinks back at him. "You're worried?"

"Well…yeah."

"He thinks you're fine. He keeps an eye on everyone, really."

"He does? Think I'm fine?"

"Yeah,” Cyrnarel says. “Just a few days in he said he had you figured, said he liked you. Doesn't mean his eye's been off you, but he's alright with you."

"Had me figured?"

"He tries to figure out people's intentions and motivations and all that."

"Did he tell you  _ what _ he figured out?" Jack asks.

"You're stressed, you're still figuring out how things work, and you're honest."

"…That's all true."

"Yeah, he's pretty good at it."

Jack frowns. "I sort of thought he hated me. Or was at least suspicious."

"Wary, not suspicious. He doesn't trust easy, but if he thinks you're alright, he eases up. He's been trained like that."

"Trained?" Jack squints.

"He used to be a spy for Par Vollen."

"Oh. Wow. I sort of assumed he was one of those, um, rebels. Tal Vashoth?"

Cyrnarel winces. "He is."

"Oh." Jack winces also. "Sorry."

"It's... kind of a sensitive topic. But he's also Bull, yeah? He's just a guy."

"Right." He nods. "I didn't mean to say something stupid."

"You didn't. He doesn't like to be reminded he's Tal-Vashoth is all. It's not what he wanted."

"Oh. I see."

"Yeah. It's--" Cyrnarel's phone goes off again and they scowl at it, but pick it up and glance at the caller. "Fuck."

Jack is about to vacate the area again, but he pauses. "What's wrong?"

Cyrnarel groans. "I had an appointment for... five minutes ago. I've missed it."

"Uh oh."

"Yeah." They answer the call, putting on a fake smile.

Jack gives him a sympathetic look.

Cyrnarel apologizes and does not reschedule, hanging up within a couple of minutes and dropping the phone back on the table. "I forgot about it."

"It happens."

"It's a pain." They sigh. "Shit. I didn't take my meds last night, either."

"Can you take them now?"

"They're at home."

"Oh, damn. Will you be okay?" Jack asks.

"I'm doing alright so far, yeah?"

"Yeah. I know some stuff can make you sick if you don't take it, though."

"Can't do shit about it now."

"Yeah." He settles back a little. "You'll get back in soon."

They nod, then hesitate. "I don't want to try to scare you off or anything, but I do have a lot of problems. Past the arm, I mean. Shit that's a pain for everyone to deal with."

"Oh. That's okay."

"...Just like that?"

"Sure. I mean, Bull's this great judge of character, and he's obviously in love with you, so you can't be that bad. And, you know, me too."

"Love doesn't make it easy," Cyrnarel says.

"I'm used to things being hard."

"It's a heads up, at least. I don't want to dump any surprises on you." They've already got plenty more secrets hidden.

"I guess you've probably figured out I have autism."

"It's not a problem."

"You know a lot of people think it's a crime just to kiss someone like me; I don't have enough awareness to make my own choices about it, supposedly." While the tablet can’t convey bitterness, it shows on Jack’s face.

"People don't know shit, yeah? They think I'd go around abusing all my friends just because of my diagnosis. The only life I'm fucking up is my own."

"Between us, we should be able to work something out."

"Yeah. That works." They sigh. "You got therapy or any of that shit?"

"Not anymore. Jowan does, though."

"I've got shit three or four days a week. It's tiring. Used to be less, then this happened." They lift their arm again. "Nobody asks how. It was a car accident. I don't have an aversion to cars."

He nods. "You probably get physical or occupational therapy too, right?"

"Both, yeah."

"I hope it goes well."

"Thanks. I don't feel like it's been working all that great, but I've got to try."

"Sometimes it doesn't show until later on."

"I guess." They look at the door to Jowan's room. "He sleep in often?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes he stays in bed after he's awake, too."

"Eavesdropping?" They're not concerned; rather, there’s a hint of amusement in their voice.

"It's possible," Jack admits. "Or just being convenient."

"Well, he's missed out on breakfast, then."

Jack shrugs. "I can feed him later. Or he can feed himself."

"Thanks for the food anyway. It was nice."

"You're welcome."

"And, uh. I don't think I'd mind seeing you like this more often. With less getting stuck in the rain."

"Well… you should come over sometimes, then. Or we could go out. I can't wear boxers out, though," Jack says.

"Both are good, I think. Though I can't say I look very good in boxers myself."

"You look cute in Jowan's pajamas."

And that makes Cyrnarel’s face turn quite red. "Uh," they respond. "Um. Thanks."

"I should've given you mine. That would be even better."

"I don't think I'd fit." They grin lopsidedly. "Well, we've still got time."

"Yeah." His smile widens in kind. "No rush."

"Yeah. We'll see how things go. Slowly.” The stretch. “You doing anything tomorrow after work?"

"Yeah, actually. I have a date. But I don't object to having another one on another day."

"Oh, um. Thursday? Or is that too close? Too many dates? We're gonna go on a date." They seem a little surprised at themself.

"No wait, hang on… I'm going out tonight. So I'm free tomorrow, after all. It's okay, it's not too many."

"Oh. Tomorrow works, then? We can do... something."

"Yeah. Something,” Jack says.

"I'll come up with a better idea. It won't involve Bull, I promise. Or rope."

Jack’s hands pause over the tablet. "Um."

"...oh.” Cyrnarel rubs the back of their neck, looking down. “Uh. Right. You haven't talked to Bull much. Nevermind."

"Wow." Jack laughs a little.

Cyrnarel clears their throat. "Maybe dinner. Might be cold or rainy tomorrow."

"Someplace warm. Maybe with a fire."

"Like one of those home style restaurants?"

"Yeah. That kind."

"Sure, we can go to one of them. Maybe get ice cream after," Cyrnarel says.

"The real kind, with cones?"

"Yep, at one of those nice ice cream places."

"I've never been to one."

"You've at least had ice cream with cones, right?" Cyrnarel asks.

"Just in bowls,” Jack says.

"Then yeah, we're definitely going."

"I can't wait."

"If you talk to your third you're going to have a very busy week."

"I know! So much going on." Jack’s hands flutter a little, but he stills them quickly.

"You can shake your hands, it's alright." At least, it looks like Jack stopped them due to nerves nerves.

"Most people pretend not to notice. I'm not supposed to."

Cyrnarel’s eyebrows furrow. "Not suppose to?"

"Yeah. It's, um. A distraction, and it's…not supposed to be good for me, and it makes me look--well, you know."

"Not good for you? It doesn't look like it hurts."

Jack shifts, a little uncomfortable. "It's like… It's bad for development or something. I mean, I know I'm grown up, but--the point is, I'm not supposed to do it."

"Sounds like bullshit."

"Maybe."

"I don't mind it," Cyrnarel says. “Really.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Cyrnarel checks the time on their phone. "I've still got a couple hours until Bull's back in town."

"What do you want to do?"

"We could play a game of some sort.  You got any board games or video games?"

"We have cards," Jack says.

"Cards are kind of flimsy to deal with."

"We have… poker chips?" They sort of go with the cards, though.

"Ehhh."

"Sorry."

They wave their hand. "It's not a problem."

"We could go for a walk," Jack suggests.

"We could, yeah. Are my clothes dry?"

"They should be. We had the heat on last night."

"We'll do that, then."

"Okay. I'll get your clothes."

They carry their clothes and prosthetic--which is a very nice one, bright and studded with nevarrite--to the bathroom, emerging with their pajamas draped over their arm, glove replaced on their left hand.

"Are they dry enough?" Jack asks.

"Yeah, they'll work."

"Okay. Oh! I have to put clothes on too."

Cyrnarel laughs. "I wouldn't if you--no, do put clothes on," they say, snapping their mouth shut. "Yes. Clothes."

Jack gives them a curious smile before disappearing into his room and returning fully dressed, shirt on backwards.

"Any place in particular?" Cyrnarel asks, pulling on their right glove.

"Maybe just around the block. There's an artificial lake that isn't far."

Cyrnarel nods and goes to put their shoes on, pulling their raincoat off the hook once they're done. "You ready?"

"Uh huh." He grabs an umbrella, just in case.

"Lead the way."


	8. Chapter 8

The elevator is thankfully still operational.

Though Jack keeps his iPad tucked under his arm, he tries not to talk much; typing and walking at once is a bit of a pain.

"You go out here a lot?" Cyrnarel asks along the way. The sidewalk is wet and hosts plenty of puddles, which the two of them try to sidestep. Most are shallow. A few birds sing and the air smells fresh and comforting.

"Sometimes,” Jack types, slowing his gait.” It's better in spring."

"You've been here before?"

"We visited a couple times before moving. It rained, but things were growing. And there were ducks."

"There's geese, too,” Cyrnarel says, screwing their nose up. “Geese are dicks. They bite."

"Yikes,” Jack says aloud, then types, "I never met a goose. Saw them sometimes way out on the edges of Lake Calenhad."

"They have teeth, you know? Tiny, sharp teeth."

"I didn't think birds had any teeth.”

"These ones do. They've got a nasty temper, too.” Cyrnarel slows, letting Jack walk ahead for a moment as someone walking their dog walks past them quickly. “Oh, we can get lunch at the cafe later, if you want. Unless you'd rather not on your day off."

"That's okay! I'll go." Jack looks back up at Cyrnarel.

They smile at him. "This is a lot better than that other time I came around to your place. And… Sorry about that. Again. I was... stressed."

"It's okay,” Jack says, expression gentle. “Your brother talked to me a little."

"You've met Yavven?"

He nods. "He was in the cafe one day."

"Oh." Cyrnarel frowns. "Why'd he talk to you?"

"I didn't really tell him, he sort of just... Figured it out. What was going on between us. He didn't say anything bad, or tell any secrets."

"Oh. So he knows who you are." They're not upset, but it  _ is _ unexpected.

"Yeah. He said he was going to talk to you--he didn't?"

"Oh. That. Well... he did, but he didn't mention you.” Cyrnarel slows to a stop. “Maybe we can organize something. You, me, Bull, maybe your soulmates, Yavven, Solas, Sera, Jowan, Dorian, and Zevran. We could all spend a Friday night doing... whatever."

Jack’s free hand flutters a little. He hesitates, then lets it, keeping the movement small, before typing again. "We could have a board game night, or a movie night..."

"Strip poker," Cyrnarel suggests, keeping a neutral expression. "We'd have to invite Ellana and Mahanon, too."

"I can't play strip poker with my boss  _ and _ your brother!"

Cyrnarel laughs. "Really?"

"It would be so embarrassing!"

"Alright, alright. Something tamer. Spin the bottle?" they joke.

"Boring! Played it all the time at the Circle."

"We can always skip the bottle," they say casually.

"Just spin?" Jack teases.

"I've got better ideas,” Cyrnarel says, giving him a flirty glance and leaning in a few inches. They pull back and resume walking. “The park’ll do for now.”

The lake has the awkward squarish look of a manmade body of water, but it appears to be well-established, plenty of plant-life growing in it and around the edges. A few sets of bright flowers sit decoratively in the grass nearby, still holding on despite the cooling air.

"I don't think I've been here before," Cyrnarel says, taking a look around. There are few others at the park--most with their dogs, one a Mabari--and the atmosphere borders between dreamlike and dismal. "It's calm. Nice. And chilly."

"I could keep you warm."

They can't help the grin that spreads across their face. "My jacket’s a little thin."

Jack steps forward, tucking his tablet under his arm, and very cautiously puts an arm around their shoulders, palm resting lightly against the side of their arm. He smells warm and comforting, the sweat not an overbearing smell.

"That might help," Cyrnarel says, wrapping an arm around Jack’s middle. "We might have to wait a while and see."

"Okay," Jack says, pleased with this situation.

"There's a lake near where I grew up as a kid, you know? It's nice, I like lakes. Like skating on them, too. It gets colder in Ferelden than the Marches, yeah? So there’s more time to skate."

"Yeah. Bitter cold," Jack says. He rolls his shoulder a little; it's a bit of an awkward position to type from. "We skated sometimes on Lake Calenhad, but only when it was really, really cold."

"I haven't... um. I haven't actually had a winter with my arm yet." Cyrnarel looks out at the lake. “I don’t know what that’ll be like.”

"Good luck."

They grin up at him. "We'll see how it goes. I mean, look on the bright side. Least I've got two large men to help keep me warm.” Their face turns red as they realize what they’re saying. “Well, wait, I mean. Not that we're. Doing anything. Right now. But you're warm. So, like..."

"Don't worry about it,” Jack says easily. “I give great hugs. And later on…well, I'm not a total virgin."

Cyrnarel goes red to the tips of their ears. "Oh."

"Think about it: Take a bunch of teen mages, have them live together, make them extremely bored, and tell them no one normal will ever want them. It's a perfect storm for hormones."

"...Yeah." Cyrnarel already opened the gates to "too much information" when they brought up rope, didn't they? "They really told you you were all unwanted?" they ask, grin fading.

"Not always directly. Not always with words."

"Oh. That's awful."

Jack shrugs. "I'm a libertarian."

"...um."

"It means I'm for mage rights, abolition of Circles, and getting rid of the Templars."

"Oh,” Cyrnarel says, relieved. “That sort. Not the fiscally conservative sort."

"No." Jack wrinkles his nose. "It's bad that they have the same name."

"Good. You had me worried there."

"Sorry." He smiles sheepishly. "Me and Jowan have housing assistance so those people think we're a drain anyway."

"Their poor pennies!" Cyrnarel says, waving a hand dramatically. 

"I like to waste them as much as possible. But it's kind of hard to waste an apartment."

"Least you've got one."

"Yeah. Thank goodness,” Jack says.

"If you ever run into housing troubles..." Cyrnarel says, looking up at Jack’s face. It’s a little awkward, keeping a conversation going while this close, but they’re committed now, and their head practically rests against Jack’s shoulder as they speak.

"I should tell you?"

"Yeah. I mean--Bull and I have space, yeah? Any of our friends are welcome."

"Thanks,” Jack says. “Hopefully it doesn't come to that. We're doing okay so far."

"Yeah. Well. Oh! My last name's Istimaethoriel, not Lavellan." Cyrnarel grins abashedly. “I mean, legally Lavellan is my last name, and it is for Mahanon too. But my family's Istimaethoriel. Just… You know, we’ve already introduced ourselves, better to straighten that out first."

"Oh. Oh, right,” Jack says aloud. “Because you're Dalish. Lavellan is your clan. Got it."

"Yeah. Hey, you have any relation to the Amells in Kirkwall? I mean, I suppose you do, having been born there, but do you know them?"

"No.” Jack shakes his head slightly. “I used to Google them all the time, but… I don't remember them. I thought about emailing someone once, but…I never got up the nerve.""

"Oh. I'm sorry,” Cyrnarel says. “Do you think it’s too late now?”

"Well, you know…on the one hand, they…got rid of me. Surrender to the Circle is  _ supposedly _ voluntary these days. But on the other hand, the Templars aren't exactly big on the rules."

"You think any family wants to give up their kids?"

"Yes. I know Jowan told you about his mother."

"Did he? I don't remember." Cyrnarel frowns, sifting through their memories.

"When we were coming in from the parking lot."

"Oh, right. Yeah." They sigh. "It's shit."

"Yeah. And I was already a freak to begin with, even before magic. So…I don't know. I don't know how I feel about them,” Jack says.

"You're afraid."

"Right. It might be better not knowing."

"But you would get closure."

"Yeah." He squeezes them a little without noticing, looking out over the lake.

"Bull mentioned something once,” Cyrnarel says quietly, turning to look with him. “Said you have some mage shit you might have to do. He didn’t go into details."

"Yeah." Jack sighs. "I'm a reserve. Like… For the army."

"Which army?" Skyhold is split between Orlais and Ferelden--it could be either of those or even some other, unaffiliated army.

"Fereldan. That's where Kinloch Hold is."

"So if Ferelden needs more troops than it has..."

"Then they call me up,” Jack says.

"And then you're gone." Cyrnarel shifts their weight, looking significantly less happy.

"For a while, anyway."

"Forever, maybe."

"Not forever,” Jack assures them. “Only a while.”

"If they stick you on the front lines." They hold him tighter. “I don’t want you to…”

"It's not part of the plan," Jack says. 

"Calling on a reserve better not be in the plan, either. You're nice, yeah? You don't deserve any of that."

"Cost of living free, I guess."

"It's bullshit," Cyrnarel says harshly.

"Sorry."

"No, no, you don't have anything to apologize for, yeah? You're fine.” Cyrnarel looks back up, expression softening. “I just don't want to see you hurt." 

It occurs to them that Jack is eventually going to see them hurt, and they frown. He's a mage, formerly kept in one of the Circles and fed self-hating nonsense by Templars. "And I don't want to make you feel bad if you do get hurt. For whatever reason."

"…thanks."

"And I'm here for you if you need anything."

He squeezes them again, this time deliberately. "Thank you. You too."

The two of them stand there for a while, watching the lake as ducks fly in and take a swim, Cyrnarel warm with Jack’s arm around them. Eventually Jack settles into a more comfortable position, both arms around them, laptop in front of them, chin resting lightly on their head.

"This is nice," Cyrnarel says. “Just… All of this.” They sigh contentedly.

"I like it," Jack murmurs aloud. "You're sweet."

"So are you." They smile. "This is nice. Real nice."

"I'm glad you decided to give me a chance."

"I'm glad too," they say, watching his hands. "Things are looking to be good."

"This whole move is working out a lot better than I was expecting,” Jack says.

"I figure you were worried about... well, everything."

"Pretty much."

Cyrnarel nudges Jack's arm aside so they can get out of Jack's embrace. "And I'm helping?"

"Yeah."

They smile, then place their arms around his shoulders and step up on their toes, kissing his lips gently.

"Oh," Jack says softly, against their lips.

"Still helping?" they ask quietly, settling down again, snug against his chest.

"Yeah." Jack leans in and kisses them back, not too deeply, but tenderly. Cyrnarel their head back to deepen the kiss, closing their eyes. "Mm. Do you want to sit down?"

"Oh." Cyrnarel’s a little out of it after the kiss. "Uh. Yeah."

He brushes a lock of their hair away from their eyes. "Okay. There's a bench."

"Bench." They look at his face a moment longer before Jack leads them to it. Jack sits down, placing his tablet in his lap and reaching for their hand.

Cyrnarel lets him take it, goofy smile growing on their face. "Hi." Jack puts his arm around them again, leaning over to smell their hair with a contented sigh.

Cyrnarel hums. "This is a nice place."

Jack parts from them to type. "It is. Hey, do you know anyone who has a fireplace?"

"I do, actually."

"I feel like we should cuddle by a fire. I changed my mind about the fireplace at the restaurant. That's not good enough. You can't cuddle properly in a restaurant."

"Mm, you think it's cold enough?"

"Maybe in a week or two."

"We can still try tomorrow if you want takeout or something. I'd feel weird asking Bull to make us something if it's just gonna be us two."

"No--I still want that ice cream."

Cyrnarel laughs, then kisses him again. "We'll keep that plan, then."

"Okay." He chuckles quietly. "So many dates. Not a problem I expected."

"You're gonna be busy."

"That's okay. I don't mind."

Another kiss. "Not too fast?" Cyrnarel asks.

"Not yet."

"Right. Ropes and crops can wait for tomorrow," they say with a grin.

"Maybe not  _ tomorrow _ ." Jack laughs.

"Today? Wonderful."

He laughs again. "I've never done anything like that."

"Mayyyybe you will someday." They're surprisingly comfortable with Jack today, and it's a wonderful feeling.

"Maybe. This is fine for now, though."

"Mm. sure. I like your lips."

"I like your eyes."

They grin. "You do?"

"They're beautiful."

"Taemen always said they were weird, but I like them. I'm glad you do,” Cyrnarel says. 

"They're pretty. I like them. I could just…fall in."

"...Really?" Cyrnarel smiles broadly.

"Yeah. Geeze, I wish  _ that _ was my first words."

"Best not, I can't hardly see the words anymore."

"Huh?"

"Um, the words, they're sort of. Not really clear anymore." Cyrnarel touches their right arm.

"Oh. Are they…supposed to fade?" Jack squints at Cyrnarel. Usually marks don’t fade until one’s soulmate has departed. 

"No, they're, um. Not faded. They're there, but... not. It’s complicated.” They smile at him, more forced than earlier. "But they're good words. Comforting. I like them more now."

"At the Circle, we'd talk about ours for hours, read them off to each other, try to imagine who they were going to be."

"I got kind of, I don't know, disappointed when I realized two of mine weren't going to be from my clan, probably wouldn't even be Dalish. I'm not anymore, but it was worrisome."

Jack nods. "We all thought ours were going to be other mages. Whenever anyone new showed up--anyone the right age, I mean--everyone would be crowded around to see."

"And you were left waiting a long while."

"I knew. That it could be someone outside the Circle. I just didn't think they'd want me."

"I want you. I definitely want you,” Cyrnarel says.

"I'm glad. The other one is the same. I don't know about the third yet. It's a little nerve wracking."

"You'll see, yeah?" Another kiss. "And then tomorrow we'll get dinner and ice cream."

"Yeah. And tonight I'm going out with Z--"

Oh.  _ Shit. _

There’s a pause between them. "Zevran?" Cyrnarel asks quietly, cautiously.

"Don't tell him I told you, please. I wasn't supposed to tell anyone."

"He should know I know, I think." Zevran and Jack? Really?

"He's going to be upset,” Jack says, worried.

"Does he know about me?" Cyrnarel asks.

"Yes. He noticed when we met. It didn't bother him or anything."

"Oh. Well, good, that's good."

"Yeah.” Jack looks almost glum. “I hope he's not too upset that I accidentally told. I feel like I've ruined it before it's begun."

"Don't worry about it, yeah? He's looked happy lately. We're friends. I don't think he'll mind another of your own soul mates knowing." Cyrnarel touches Jack’s face. “Keeping it a secret isn’t good.”

"Okay."

"And you're happy."

"So far so good,” Jack says. “That cafe is good luck for me."

Cyrnarel chuckles. "Me too."

"We should tell Bull that."

"That his cafe's lucky? I think he already knows."

"Yeah but does he know it's two soulmates in  _ one day _ lucky?"

"Mm, but better not tell him yet, if you don't want him to know about Zevran,” Cyrnarel points out.

"Later, then."

Another kiss. "You want to go for lunch? I don't know if it might be rude, in front of Zevran..."

"I'm seeing him later tonight. He won't mind. We should go,” Jack says. "He'll be glad."

"Yeah, I suppose he will. C'mon, let's get going. We might beat the lunch rush."

"Are you okay to walk that far?" Jack asks.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Takes a lot of energy for the body to heal from a major injury, that's all."

"It was months ago, yeah? I'm fine. And my prosthetic's not that heavy."

Jack nods, getting to his feet and offering his hand. "Shall we?"

They take it. "We shall."


	9. Chapter 9

Jack walks with Cyrnarel mostly in silence, only wrestling his tablet when he needs to answer.

"How old are you, Jack?" Cyrnarel asks, staying close by his side.

"Twenty two."

Cyrnarel raises an eyebrow. “Oh. You’re young.”

"Am I too young?" Jack asks anxiously, a hint of worry in his face.

"No! No, that's not what I meant. I'm just a little surprised is all. Thought you'd be older." Cyrnarel shrugs. "I'm twenty-seven. Bull's thirty-five."

"Oh. That is a bit of a difference,” Jack says. “Not bad though, I don't think. Zevran is a little older too, I think. Alistair looks my age though."

"So long as it all works out. I’ll admit it was a bit awkward, when me and Bull started dating. Not the typical relationship by any means. But we made it work."

"All we can do is try it and see. Like an adventure."

"A good one, I hope."

"Me too." Jack tucks the tablet under his arm, taking Cyrnarel’s hand once more.

* * *

"Well look who it is!" Sera calls out when they enter the cafe. There's a few customers already in the cafe, sitting in quiet conversation at the tables, with only Sera and Dorian at the counter. "Haven't seen you in a while, eh? Bull's not here yet, we're still on leftovers." She taps the bakery case. 

"They were cooked last night," Dorian says. "They could be fresher, I’ll admit, but they’re not bad."

"But it doesn't  _ smell _ like a bakery."

"It  _ isn't  _ a bakery."

Jack and Cyrnarel take a seat at the counter. "It's sort of a bakery," Jack says.

“I’m convinced the coffee part is just advertising,” Cyrnarel says. “Bull doesn’t even order the fun drinks.”

"Sera, this is--" Dorian begins. 

"Ooh, this is the big guy Zev's been talking about?" Sera squints at Jack, leaning over the counter. "I'm not seeing it." 

"This is Jack," Dorian says dryly. "Jack, this is Sera."

"Hi Sera. Seeing what?" Jack asks.

"He talks 'bout you like he's ready to jump you," she says. "Figured you'd be a lot prettier. But I guess you're big, and--well." 

"I'll have a small soy latte and some chips," Cyrnarel says to Dorian.

"I'm not pretty?" Jack looks more amused than offended. "Flat white and a croissant, please."

Dorian types in the numbers and Sera grabs a mug. "You're pretty enough," Dorian says. "Just not  _ Sera's _ type, I'd wager." 

"Not Zevran's either," Sera says. "Now, if we're looking at Cyrnarel's type, you like the big ones, yeah?" 

"I've got a big one," they say, pulling out a 20. Enough to cover both of their orders.  

Sera snickers. "Sure you do."

"Hey, I haven't had any complaints."

"Uh-huh. So, you're working here?" Sera asks Jack as she sets up a coffee. "How's that work with that?" She nods towards Jack's iPad.

Jack’s look turns wary. "I make drinks," he says shortly.

"Right. Still pays the bills." She pulls a croissant and a bag of chips out, placing them in front of the couple. 

"How've you been?" Cyrnarel asks. "Visiting Dagna and all." 

"Warm.” Sera sighs softly. “Nice beaches and sand and now I'm back here, smack in the middle of nowhere where it's cold and rains all the time. The weather here is shite." 

"It's not that bad." 

"Not when you're snogging the big guy, I bet it's not!"

Jack looks a little taken aback, distracts himself by tearing off a bit of croissant and eating it.

"How about you? Getting along?" Sera asks Jack. She hands him his drink a moment before Dorian serves Cyrnarel's, dusting the latte with cocoa. 

"Yeah. It's nice here."

"Nice enough you come to the shop on your day off?" 

"With Cyrnarel in tow," Dorian notes. "And here I thought you two weren't getting along."

"We're getting along fine,” Jack says.

"We're doing great," Cyrnarel agrees, bumping Jack's shoulder with their own. Jack grins at them.

Dorian raises an eyebrow and Sera leans forward suspiciously. "That's exactly the way a new couple would act." 

"Is it?" Cyrnarel asks. "And how do new couples act?" 

"You two? Really? I leave for a month and you went and got yourself another boyfriend?" Sera asks. “You’re being cheeky.” 

"I didn't say anything," Cyrnarel says, grinning.

"There's no rush to put names to things,” Jack says.

"Oh, so that's why--" Dorian says, stopping himself before he gets too far, but it's already too late. 

"You're not just--you're soulmates?" Sera asks, grinning widely. "And here I thought you didn't have another! Good on you, Cyrn! Just tell me poor Jack doesn't have a coffee order on his arm."

"I don't,” Jack says. Despite the popularity in media, it’s rather uncommon to have an order as one’s mark.

"Cursing?"

"No. Just a simple question."

"Damn. That would have been something. Least you two found each other."

"First time I walked in here and everything."

"And now you're, what, on a date?" Dorian asks. 

"We'd come someplace nicer than this for a date," Cyrnarel says. “But don’t tell Bull I said that.”

"We're just having lunch,” Jack says. He turns his head when the door to the backroom opens and Zevran emerges, drinking from a bottle of water. “Hi Zevran!" Jack gives a little wave.

"What an unexpected surprise," Zevran says, waving back. He joins Dorian and Sera behind the counter, tying his apron behind him. "Hello Jack, Cyrnarel."

"We thought we would stop by and see everyone," Jack says.

"Couldn't resist seeing my beautiful face?" 

"They're on a date," Sera says in a stage whisper, nudging Zevran with her elbow. 

"That does not mean I cannot be a main attraction!" 

"It means they'd rather snog than look at you."

"I'm just eating a croissant," Jack says.

Cyrnarel chuckles and opens their bag of chips. "Sorry Zev, the food's the main attraction here."

"Defeated by the allure of food," Zevran sighs. "How could I ever compete?" 

Dorian unintentionally interrupts their conversation with a "Welcome to Skyline Cafe! What can I get for you?" It’s Alistair he greets, and Zevran perks up, giving him a small wave. His hair’s slightly unkempt, a few strands dropping in front of his eyes, and his entire demeanor is relaxed and confident.

Jack freezes up immediately, tapping nervously at the edge of his iPad. Cyrnarel looks up at Jack with a frown. "You alright?"

"Fine," he says aloud, very quietly.

They sit back and pull their coffee close. "Oh. Alright."

He leans in a little, swapping to a different window on his tablet, an app that doesn't speak. "That's him," he types.

It takes Cyrnarel a moment. "Oh," they say. "I see." They glance back up at Alistair, who orders a drink, but is obviously here to see Zevran, leaning in over the counter to chat, pink-cheeked. "Are they flirting?"

"Yeah," Jack types. "They went on a date yesterday."

"What? You mean they're...?"

He nods a little.

"Ohhhh. Well, um. Say something?"

"I can't." Jack gives them a pleading look.

"I can introduce you?"

He hesitates, thinking, then nods. Cyrnarel can work with that. 

"Hi!" They say when there's a lull in conversation. "You new here?"

"Oh, hi!" Alistair turns around with a bright smile. It's a rather beaming smile, and Jack quails a little at sight of it. "Yeah," he continues. "Just got stationed here."

"Stationed here? You military?"

"Grey Wardens."

"...oh. Well. Cool." Cyrnarel clears their throat. "I'm Cyrnarel. I... don't exactly work here, but I'm friends with everyone who works here. And this is Jack." They pat Jack’s back firmly. “My good friend.”

"Oh--I remember you, you made my drink yesterday!” Alistair’s positivity remains strong. “It was really good." 

Jack reddens, dropping his eyes. "Um, thanks," he mumbles.

Cyrnarel nudges Jack anxiously--more words? Do those words count? Jack nudges them back, face burning. 

The silence stretches on; Alistair looks a little stunned. Evidently they did count.

Cyrnarel wraps an arm around Jack's shoulders and gives Alistair a forced smile. "Anyway, it's nice meeting you, ah, ...?"

"Alistair, I'm Alistair." He sticks his hand out. They shake his hand with their free one. He moves to Jack, holding his hand out to shake his as well. Jack takes it almost dazedly and gives it a weak shake.

"It's…a pleasure to meet you," Alistair says.

"You can't be serious," Dorian says. "You really can't be serious." He receives a jab to the ribs and a 'hush' from Sera.

Alistair laughs nervously, and Jack seems to shrink a little, feeling rather exposed. "Really… interesting place you have here," Alistair says to no one in particular.

"I'm not sure why this keeps happening," Cyrnarel says.

"I'm guessing I'm not the only person to meet people here?"

"Not by a long shot," Cyrnarel says.

"We need a list!" Sera declares. "Cyrn met Bull, Cyrn met Jack, Mahanon met Dorian, I met Widdle, Ellana met Josie, Al met Jack..."

"Wow." Alistair's eyebrows lift. "That…really is a lot."

"Anyone I'm missing?" Sera asks.

"Well, I met him--" Alistair gestures to Zevran.

Which makes Zevran freeze and Sera go 'ooooooh.' "Good on you, Zev!" 

"Ah, well, thank you, Sera,” Zevran says, regaining his composure. “Good on me indeed."

"I should tell all my friends to come in here," Alistair says.

"Please do; I could use the money," Dorian says.

"A mutually beneficial arrangement for all, eh?"

"Bull won't complain," Cyrnarel says.

"So… you, and you, as well?" He points between Jack and Cyrnarel.

Cyrnarel nods. "We haven't really known each other long, but yeah."

"Wow. It's like a chain."

"A very big, confusing chain," they say. "Oh, Alistair, you should meet my bonded. He'll be in to work in a few hours."

"Well, I  _ am _ off today."

Cyrnarel smiles, then frowns as their phone goes off. They slide off their chair. "Sorry," they say, pulling their phone out of their pocket. “I’ll just be a minute.”

"You all gonna stay up here?" Sera asks, patting the counter. "'Cause it's about to get busy."

"Take up less space than at a table," Jack says.

"Not with Al standing about like that."

"Oh." Alistair flushes and plants himself on a stool. "Sorry."

Cyrnarel turns upset at their phone conversation and abruptly goes for the backroom to continue their call.

Jack frowns, looking after them, but turning back to the counter, even more uncomfortable at being left almost alone with Alistair.

* * *

And the lunch rush begins, crowding the both of them as Cyrnarel's coffee goes cold. Dorian and Sera cast some concerned glances back at the door but are otherwise quite busy filling orders, and Zevran is more preoccupied with anxious glancing at Jack and Alistair, caught in a new and uncertain situation. Jack glances back a few times too, but he doesn't know Cyrnarel well enough to interrupt them. 

Alistair leans forward on the bar, saying to Zevran, "So when can I see you again?"

"Hm, I may have some time tomorrow after work, and... Oh, Sunday afternoons. The cafe is closed then. Not much business with everyone at the Chantry." 

"I thought there was a place you wanted to go Sunday?" Dorian asks. 

"Ah, well--yes, an antiques market, actually." 

"Old shit?" Sera asks, wrinkling her nose. 

"Fancy old daggers and knives," Zevran says. "They are fun to look at. Sometimes still in working condition."

“Right, yeah, you and knives,” Sera says. “That’s one of your things.”

"Oh, can I come?" Alistair asks. 

"Sometimes they have old mage stuff," Jack notes with interest.

Zevran holds up a hand for them to stop, rings up another order, and starts making the customer's drink. "Both of you can come, if you like. The more the merrier."

"Great!" Alistair turns to Jack. "And is there a time you're free that we could… you know, talk, get to know each other?" 

Jack gapes at him a moment. "I'm off Sundays and Mondays," he says, typing quickly.

Cyrnarel comes out then, looking a good deal more upset than earlier, and they sit with their coffee again. Jack nudges them and texts silently, "Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine." They mumble glumly. Jack nods, but gives their arm a light squeeze.

"Cyrnarel, you enjoy antiques markets, right?" Dorian asks. "Some of us are going to one this Sunday."

"I'll pass," they say, and Dorian leaves it be.

Alistair has disappeared into his phone, busy scheduling his sudden flood of dates. 

"We should get together again soon," Jack says to Cyrnarel.

"Yeah. I'll let you know, yeah?" They smile at him, expression strained. 

“Okay,” Jack says aloud. “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news: We've finally moved on to text document 2 of 20! I'm still moving slowly on account of general low interest in the fic, but it's moving.


	10. Chapter 10

Jack meets up with Zevran after his shift, having gone home briefly to change into something slightly nicer and brush his hair. He's bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, nervous and excited.

Zevran's just as nervous as Jack, but grins at Jack when he sees him, offering his arm. "Good evening."

He takes it with a smile, tucking his iPad into his arm and awkwardly typing. "Hi!"

"So now Alistair knows, hm?"

"Well he knows about him and me, and he knows about you and him. He doesn't know about you and me."

"He will soon enough. And he knows about Cyrnarel."

Jack winces slightly. "Cyrnarel knows about us. It was an accident."

"...ah,” Zevran says, only slightly surprised. “But they deserve to know, yes?"

"Yeah. I just--well, it should have been when you were ready. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

Zevran pats Jack on the shoulder. "Do not worry yourself. You two looked rather... close?"

"They started talking to me at least."

"That is a start."

"They got locked out and spent the night on our couch, and I guess they… changed their mind about things. It was… nice. We had a nice time. 'm glad they decided to give me a chance."

"Are you two involved now?"

"I think so. I mean--we didn't say anything officially, I'm not their  _ boyfriend _ or anything yet. But we're…seeing where it goes," Jack says carefully.

"I wish you luck. But for now: Us. Do you like sushi?"

"I've never had it."

"Ah, well, I know this one place..." Zevran leads Jack to the place he and Alistair ate yesterday, ordering a table for two and smiling as the waitress gives him a raised eyebrow.

"What is sushi, exactly?"

Zevran looks at him with surprise. "You don't even know what it is?"

"I mean, I've heard of it, but I don't really… no, I don't really know what it is."

"It is raw fish, usually wrapped with rice and seaweed."

" _ Raw _ ?"

"You can order the grilled eel if you prefer. But I assure you, raw fish tastes pleasant when prepared well."

"Well, I'll try it. I want to try all kinds of new things."

Zevran waggles his eyebrows before opening the menu. "Spicy?"

"Spicy, raw, whatever else." Jack opens his own,  then frowns a little. "…Oh."

"Hm?"

"It's…awfully expensive."

"I'll pay for tonight, how about that?" Zevran offers. He doesn't have much money to spare himself, but he's got enough for a few nice dinners, so long as neither of them overindulge.

Jack looks at him guiltily. "Are you sure?"

"I brought you out here," he points out. "It is no trouble."

"…Okay. You can decide what to order, though."

"I enjoy the Antivan Rolls. Alistair I believe likes the Val Royeaux."

"I want something with raw fish in it."

"They all have raw fish, amico. With the exception of the eel, and if you do not consider crab a fish."

"Crab is like… a bug."

"They are rather more like fish, I find,” Zevran says. “Perhaps not in appearance, but in taste.”

"Huh. Well, whatever you think is best."

"We can split an Antivan and a Val Royeaux." Zevran calls over the waitress, placing their order and also ordering sake for both of them.

"What's that?"

"Strong."

"…strong  _ what _ ?"

"Liquor. It's a drink. I assume you aren't that lightweight, at least?"

Jack shakes his head. "Oh, no, I've drunk. Someone's always brewing or distilling something at the Circle. Not always something good, but something."

"I don't think sake tastes half as awful as most beers I've had, so I think you are in luck."

"I've had a lot worse than anything that's being served in a restaurant."

"I can certainly imagine. So--what do you do exactly? As a mage?" Zevran laces his fingers together, placing his chin atop them.

"Elemental and battle magic."

"Do they have practical daily applications?"

Jack licks his lips. "Not really. I'm a reserve for the Fereldan army."

"No benefits to the whole mage thing, then."

"Well…I sort of  _ like _ magic."

"That is certainly a benefit, in that case."

"I can make pretty lights and stuff. That's just not  _ useful _ ."

"It needn't be useful to be good."

"Tell that to the Templars."

"No thank you," Zevran says, chuckling.

"How did your date with Alistair go? Do you like him?"

"Yes. He is... not exactly the sort I would have fancied as my type, but he is sweet. He too was not familiar with sushi."

"Sera said I'm not your type either."

"That came up?"

"Yes."

"Yes, well... You will meet Mahanon,” Zevran says. “Maybe this weekend, if he has the time."

"Are you disappointed?"

"No, not at all. Surprised would fit better."

"But I'm…big, and I'm not… pretty, and--"

"Mahanon is small and pretty," Zevran says. "I am not certain what happened, but the words are rarely wrong, yes?"

"I don't want to be second-rate."

"You are not," Zevran says as the waitress comes by with dinner. "It is my expectations that were off, not you. I may have a type, but that does not mean I will limit myself for the sake of appearances."

"Are you sure?"

"We have barely met, and I admit I am very curious to see where this goes."

"Okay." He smiles, pushing away his worry and discomfort.

Zevran picks at the Antivan roll first. "Octopus in this one. Still a fish, I assure you."

"Octopuses are the ones with all the legs and suckers?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I'll try one." He squints at the tubular roll, frowning. "How do I eat it?"

Zevran pokes a piece off of the roll, picking it up in his chopsticks. "You can use your hands, if you like," he says, then places the whole piece in his mouth.

The whole thing. All right. Trying not to look too boggled (he's cool, he's not intimidated), Jack picks up a piece of the roll and pops it into his own mouth. 

A moment later, while he's chewing, his eyes widen slightly; the spices have just hit.

Zevran laughs, swallowing his piece. "It is Antivan."

"Nnn." He says as his eyes begin to tear, then swallows. "Ow."

"The other one is kinder."

He laughs a little, wipes his fingers on his napkin, and says "I like it."

"Good! Try the drink, too."

He reaches for the bottle and somewhat clumsily fills his tiny cup, sipping at it. He pauses for a moment, processing the taste, and the warmth of it going down his throat, then smiles. "I like that too."

"Satisfaction all around, I see." Zevran nabs another piece of sushi. "Things are well with Cyrnarel?"

"So far. Right now I'm more interested in how things are with you."

"Between us? Good, I think. In my life? Also good. Aside from meeting soulmates, my life has been uneventful as of late. And Sera's return. Sera is a very eventful person."

Jack's nose wrinkles slightly. "Yeah."

"Come now, don't look so upset! She is blunt and crass, but she is your coworker."

"She said I was ugly and then asked how someone like me could have a normal person's job. Not in those words."

"That... does not sound like her."

"Okay, well she said I wasn't pretty enough for  _ you _ , and asked me 'how that works' about me having the job." Which is close enough to hit his sore spots, at least.

"My type is rather more conventionally pretty than you, perhaps, but that does not mean you are not good-looking, as I do find you rather handsome. As for the second part, well, she is blunt."

"Well, maybe I'm tired of blunt. Maybe just once I'd like for someone to pretend I  _ didn't  _ stick out like a sore thumb."

"That is understandable."

"Anyway--it sort of stung, for my first time meeting her." He sighs. "Sorry. I made things weird."

"Not everyone is going to make a good first impression."

"I guess she doesn't have any way of knowing people are always telling me I'm big and stupid and in the way, or that I couldn't possibly do anything useful because--Maker forbid--I use a tablet."

"She's curious, but I don't think she intended harm. She might not bring it up again."

"I'll…try not to be unfriendly."

"She is fairly receptive to requests, unless the request is something like 'stop drawing dicks in the breakroom.' Then she will tell you to do unsavory things to yourself."

"I didn't notice any dicks in the breakroom." He looks curious--he's probably going to go looking for them on his next shift.

"She has only just returned, and we had time during her absence to clean them up." He sighs. “Anyway, it may benefit you to speak with her about this.”

"Let's talk about something else." He's still feeling rather uncomfortable about the whole incident.

The conversation drifts through a myriad of topics as they make their way through the sushi and the drink, ending on a good note as they shake hands before making their ways back home.

* * *

Bull shows up to work the next few days but Cyrnarel is absent, calling off their date with Jack for undeclared reasons. They also miss out on the trip to the antiques market, staying home instead and leaving Jack, Alistair, Zevran, and Dorian to visit on their own the Sunday, purchasing a few trinkets each but nothing too notable. 

Monday morning finds Cyrnarel clinging to Bull, sleeping peacefully as a beam of sunlight makes its way past the edge of the curtains. The two of them are naked, Cyrnarel's arm across Bull's chest, a coffee order over Bull's heart and a short phrase half-visible through the scars on Cyrnarel's arm.

Jack opens his eyes--or, rather, eye, as his left won’t respond--feeling off immediately. For starters, he's sleeping on his back--he always sleeps on his side. 

It only gets more disorienting from there. There's something not quite right about the ceiling, its color or its distance, or both; he's naked; someone is touching him, and he knows he didn't go to bed with anyone last night. 

And then something worse: he can't feel the proximity of the Fade. 

He sits up. Everything about his head feels  _ wrong _ . He whimpers.

Cyrnarels arm slides off and they curl in on themself as they sleep, covers half off thanks to Jack's movement.

He stares down at them, desperately trying to piece together how he could have ended up here. He looks down at his hands, big hands with a warm grey color, and begins to shake. He slides out of bed, staggering with unfamiliar feet on an unfamiliar floor and makes another distressed sound. It's not enough to rouse Cyrnarel at this hour of the morning, the elf shifting once more but otherwise taking no notice.

Jack fumbles his way to the bathroom, whacking his horns against the doorframe and whimpering again at the jarring sensation in his skull. 

What he sees in the mirror fails utterly to reassure him; Bull's face looks back at him, brows drawn inward, mouth pulled into a tight frown. The face moves when he does, and a whimper grows into a wail as it all becomes too much, and he hurls one massive fist into the mirror, spiderwebbing the glass.

_ That _ wakes Cyrnarel. They climb out of bed and reach him quickly, stepping hesitantly into the bathroom and putting their hand on his forearm. They're groggy, but obviously worried, looking at him with eyes wide. Thankfully, they’ve at least got some underwear on. "What is it?" they ask, voice raspy. "What's wrong?"

He yanks back as if their touch burns him and claps his hands over his ears, moaning through clenched teeth.

"Bull? Hey, Bull, c'mon. You need to lie down."

He backs away, then stumbles over the lip of the shower and falls in, hard, a small caddy of razors and bar soap coming down on his head. Still making an ungodly noise and beginning to cry, he grabs a bottle of body wash ("Icy Spring," not that he notices) and hurls it across the room.

Cyrnarel is luckily well out of its path. They approach him and kneel down, picking things off of him and tossing them aside, murmuring to him. They lean forward and wrap their arm around his chest, leaning their forehead against his shoulder. "Hey. You're alright. You're safe."

He goes completely rigid, then shoves at them ( _ don't hit, don't hit _ ), crying "Don't touch me!" in a strangled voice.

They pull back, looking hurt and a hint of fear in their eyes. “Okay,” they say. They sit on the toilet instead and wait for him to calm. It's not like Bull never has episodes like this, but they're rarely... Well, like  _ this _ .

It takes an eternal seeming three or four minutes, and at one point Jack slams his head back hard enough to see spots and leave blood and a crack on the tile behind him. 

Finally, he quiets, dropping his head onto his knees and simply crying quietly.

"Do you need anything?" Cyrnarel asks quietly. The blood is concerning--enough so that they’re at a loss with how to handle this--but he's asked them not to touch. "Water? A wet cloth?"

He takes a deep breath, nods.

"I'll get those." They grab a cloth from the cabinet and wet it with the tap water, placing it beside him before leaving to get a cup of water.

It takes him a moment to gather himself, but by the time they come back Jack has the cloth pressed to the back of his head, eye red and puffy but finished crying. He's rocking slightly.

They sit next to him and hold out the cup. "What's going on, Bull? What’s wrong?"

He takes it, avoiding looking into their face. "Not Bull. I'm Jack. I'm Jack."

"...No, you're Bull.” Cyrnarel looks at him sadly. “Are you feverish?"

"I'm Jack," he says miserably, sipping his water.

"I'll make you some soup, yeah? You get back to bed."

"Nnn..." his hands flap up near his ears, not restrained this time, realizing he doesn't have his tablet, can't communicate.

"Do you need helping up? Do you want some ice?"

"Ice." He feels safe here, in the enclosed space of the shower.

"Right, I'll get that. You get back to bed." They leave to retrieve the ice, and it's visible that they do have three marks: One scarred on their arm, one scarred on their hip, and one wrapped around their right calf.

Jack waits, huddled in place and not moving from his spot.

Cyrnarel sighs when they return to the bathroom, kneeling by him and holding out the bag of ice. "C'mon, you should get back to bed. That's more restful than here."

"No." He signs it as he says it.

Cyrnarel furrows their eyebrows. "Why are you signing?"

"[Because that's how I talk,]" he signs vehemently, frustrated.

"Not normally." Cyrnarel's cell phone starts ringing in the other room. "What happened?"

"I'm Jack!"

"What the fuck do you mean you're Jack? You're Bull!"

"No!"

Cyrnarel shakes their head and puts their hand to their forehead. "I'll go make some soup, yeah? That might help."

"Okay," he says, knowing it won't.

Cyrnarel nods, heading back to the bedroom to put some pants on and check their phone. They frown--a missed call from Jack. Jack doesn't call people. 

They take a few minutes to think on it, then call back, having a short conversation before hanging up and sitting on the bed, frowning. They take another few minutes before peeking in at Bull (or is it Jack?). 

They ask him a question in Qunlat.

Jack just stares back at them, not understanding a word.

They ask another question in Qunlat.

He glares.

"Shit," they say, leaving again and pulling on a sleeveless shirt. 

They head into the kitchen to put on some waffles--just as easy as soup, and better for breakfast--then unlock the front door and make a call to Zevran, telling him neither Bull nor Jack will be in today.

After a little while, Jack appears in the kitchen, holding his head awkwardly.

"[Do you believe me now?]"

"I don't know," they say, half-turning from the toaster. "It's not possible."

"[It shouldn't be. Did you call Jowan?]"

"Uh, no, um. I got a call from--uh. Bull?" They shake their head. "Go get dressed, I feel weird."

"[Um...what should I wear?]"

The waffles pop up and Cyrnarel sighs, avoiding looking at Jack's face as they walk past and lead him to the bedroom to pull out some rather poofy pants. "They're soft. He doesn't wear them out much. And this," they say, tossing a brace on the bed. "Left foot. Um, eyepatch is on the bedside table, if you want. Salve in the drawer, if you start to ache. Or, um, I'll pull it out for you." Best he not see what's in the drawer, they think, nabbing the salve and putting it next to the eyepatch.

"Thanks." He dresses slowly, fumbling often, struggling with his motor skills in this unfamiliar body. The eye patch goes on, then off again.

And Cyrnarel returns to the kitchen, putting in more waffles and grabbing some syrup and vegan butter to place on the table.

* * *

Bull, in Jack's body, is dressed and ready to go before he even realizes there's anyone else in the apartment, iPad tucked under his arm. He's had a confusing morning, and he's sure he should be panicking, but he's pushed that to the back of his mind for a more appropriate time.

Jowan appears a few moments later, still in pajamas. "Morning!" He says, groggy but cheerful, hair hanging lank around his shoulders.

Bull smiles, hoping he's mimicking Jack correctly, and says "Morning." He slides out the iPad to type. "I'm going to be busy today, but I'll see you later, okay?"

Jowan blinks. "You don't need a ride anymore?"

"It's a nice day. I'll walk." Bull knows where Jack lives, but only vaguely, and it's not an area he's very familiar with.

"W--" Jowan frowns, unable to put a finger on what's off. "Jack, are you feeling okay?"

"I need to clear my head." He pauses, pursing his lips.  _ Sure, why not. _ "Cyrnarel texted me last night and we kind of had an argument."

"Did you sleep last night?"

"Look, I'm fine." Shit, he doesn't even know this guy's name. "Don't worry about it."

"Fine," he says, a little stung. "Brushed your teeth?"

Bull nods. "Brushed my teeth, got my wallet--the works."

"The works?"

"I've got everything I need, I promise."

"You're… acting kind of funny, Jack."

He flashes an apologetic smile. "I really think I need some fresh air, kid." He holds back a wince as he says it--he knows he’s made a mistake here.

Jowan's posture shifts subtly, and then he leans over to look into Jack's eyes, searching.

"Sorry. I watched a movie last night, picked up some lines. You know how that goes." He's glad the iPad has a steady voice.

"You watched How It's Made last night. Like you do every night."

"I watched a movie when I couldn't sleep. Please don't look in my eyes." Bull feigns discomfort well--he's very uncomfortable and there’s not much to feign--and he's noticed Jack likes eye contact even less than Cyrnarel.

Jowan pulls back, chewing his lower lip, still clearly on edge--in fact, he's so anxious that he's begun to sweat. "Okay. Hey, don't forget about my birthday this Friday, all right?" He's affecting an air of casualness, rather poorly.

Bull notices and takes a gamble. "What?" he asks aloud, frowning. "I'm not that scatterbrained," he types.

Jowan forces his shoulders to relax at least a little, though his fingers are trembling slightly. "Could have fooled me," he mumbles.

"I'll text you later, alright?"

"Sure. Okay. Just--one more thing."

"Hm?" Bull asks.

"You remember that cat Anders had, right? The one he stole, is more like it. Orange tabby, kind of scruffy."

Bull nods. The guy doesn't seem to be fishing for anything anymore.

"He named it something--totally ridiculous. Maker, what did he call it?"

Now he's not so sure. "It's been a while," he types.

Jowan's getting tense again. "It slept on your graduation robes, Jack."

"I woke up on the wrong side of the bed." Very true, at least.

"Come on, Jack," he says sharply, no longer even pretending to be casual. "You know exactly why I'm asking this."

...ah, that's right. Jack's a mage, and so is his roommate. Demons, then. "So I've had a bad night and a bad morning. That doesn't mean I'm possessed."

"Just tell me the cat's name!"

"I've forgotten it! Sorry for having such a bad memory. Must be possessed." Damn, using this thing to type is so clunky. Bull would rather be yelling by now.

"Don't do that." His voice goes choked, and his nostrils flare--he's trying not to cry. "I'm not trying to upset you, I just--how can you have had a bad night, bad morning, but still managed to brush your hair and teeth and get your wallet and your tablet and everything else?"

"Sorry, sorry," he types hurriedly, looking remorseful. "Zevran said... I should make a list." Those two spent time together yesterday, right? "He said it would help. I guess it did." As important as it feels to keep up the charade, Bull’s feeling rather guilty about the stress he’s putting this mystery roommate through.

He twists his hair around his hand, still torn--Jack  _ really _ ought to be able to name the cat, but Jowan very much wants to forget this, not keep thinking that something so awful could be happening to his best friend. 

"Just…tell me one thing, okay? Prove you're you and we can just forget about this."

Bull nods. "What do you need?"

He shuts his eyes, takes a breath. "The name of the Templar who oversaw your Harrowing."

That sounds like something Bull can't bullshit, and he bolts for the door while Jowan's eyes are closed, iPad tucked under his arm.

"Jack!" Jowan's voice is pure horror and grief, but he can't just let a demon run loose. There's a clatter of silverware, and Bull is knocked backwards, head over heels.

This body is too different from Bull's own to deal with properly, and he can't recover from this quite as he'd like to, though he reaches out to scramble for a weapon of some sort. He's dropped the iPad by now.

Jowan's holding a steak knife, but not like a weapon; there's a deep, ragged cut in his forearm, bleeding freely.

"You're not going  _ anywhere _ ."

Shit,. He's a blood mage. "I'm not a demon!" Bull yells, gambling that he’ll listen. "And I know exactly where the real Jack is!"

"Oh, yeah? You have exactly ten seconds to produce him!"

"He's at Cyrnarel's place. Go, call them. They'll tell you."

"Bullshit. Is he even still alive? What've you done to him, you  _ monster _ !" Jowan yells, power barely contained in his hands.

"Look, kid, I don't have a fucking clue why this is happening, but I sure as hell didn't ask for it."

"Right. I'm supposed to believe that."

"Just make the damn phone call!”

He hesitates, but…he really,  _ really _ wants to believe Jack isn't possessed.

"Don't even think about moving." He begins to edge backwards toward the counter where he left his phone, still holding the knife.

Bull lets his body relax and lies back fully, but makes no other movement. Best to let this play out and hope it works in his favor.

Jowan keeps an eye on him, and the knife waves around alarmingly as he tries to operate his phone while still holding it. "I need the number."

Bull recites the number, knowing it well as he's called it himself plenty of times. 

Cyrnarel picks up after a few rings. "Who's it?" they ask, pacing about the apartment as Jack eats a stack of waffles.

"It's Jowan. Look--I know this sounds bizarre, but… please tell me you have Jack with you."

"And Bull's with you," they say. "Shit's fucked up."

"Oh Maker. Oh Maker, really?"

"Is he alright?" they ask sharply. "Jack's having a hell of a time. Jack, it's Jowan," they say off the phone.

Jowan's eyes flutter shut and he sways on his feet for a moment, actually dizzy with relief. He narrowly avoids putting his own eye out. 

In the background, Jack can be heard saying, "Hi Jowan. Hi Jowan." It's more an anxious sound than a proper greeting. 

Jowan laughs shakily. "Hi, buddy. Hang in there, okay? Um--I… think he's okay." He winces and looks over at Bull. "Are you okay?"

"You're the one spreading blood everywhere," Bull points out. He grunts and pushes himself to a sitting position. 

"Did he hurt you?" Cyrnarel asks Jowan, having caught that. It's odd, hearing Jack's voice like that.

"No--no, he didn't. I'm fine, really."

"Okay, good. Um." They glance at Jack. "Jack's iPad? And, uh. Anything comforting. You like cocoa?" They ask Jack.

"Okay, yeah, I can get a few things together. Yeah."

Jack nods. "Like cocoa."

They nod back at him. "Right. Jack's got our address if you don't. We can order out lunch. Um, I guess I'll--oh. Zevran's calling me. Come around soon, yeah?"

"Yeah, we'll be over in--no more than an hour. Thanks."

"Right. See you." They end the call and answer Zevran, telling him to just shut down the shop since he's the only one there.

* * *

Meanwhile, that same morning, Mahanon is snuggled up quite closely with Dorian when Dorian's alarm goes off--he's got to get up bright and early to groom before heading out to work.

Alistair sits upright, assuming it's his alarm for his morning run and yawns, blinking blearily as he silences it. Like the others, he feels slightly off, but unlike them he dismisses the feeling almost immediately. 

What gets him is that he suddenly realizes there's a warm body next to him. Surely he wasn't  _ that _ drunk...

Mahanon rolls onto his back and stretches, groaning contentedly. And sleepily. 

Alistair gasps and claps his hand over his mouth, eyes going round.

Mahanon chuckles. "I look that good, do I?"

" _ Oh _ ." He realizes he was staring and moves the hand up to his eyes, turning away. "Um. Yeah, of course, you-you-you--look great."

Mahanon sits up, wrapping his arms around Alistair and kissing his shoulder. "Bad dream?"

"Ohhhh boy."

"Mm, I can distract. There's plenty of time before you're off to work, right?"

"Whoo! I think I had better, um, actually g--" He swallows on a dry throat. "I should go for my run. It's the--consistency, you know, it's so important. With exercise."

"You've taken up running now? Before work?"

He laughs nervously. "I run every morning!"

"In between fixing your mustache and complaining about how bland cereal is? Those few meters can't be that bad."

"Aha--that's, is that a cute way of saying I should shave more often? It's true, I didn't shave yesterday, so I've definitely got a more than five o clock shadow."

"I'm almost certain I've developed a mustache kink," Mahanon says, poking at Alistair's mustache. "You seem nervous, Dorian. Everything alright?"

"I don't know if I would really call it a mu--sorry, what?"

Mahaon musses up Alistair's hair. "Tell me you weren't drinking last night."

"I think I very definitely must have been."

He sighs, not happy with that answer. "I'll make some coffee, alright? You make yourself presentable."

"Um… okay. I'll try."

He kisses Alistair's cheek and slides out of bed, a mark clearly visible in the middle of his back: "That was terrible, but I think I'll give you one anyway."

Alistair's cheeks heat up, trying very hard not to imagine what might happen. Luckily he can see the bathroom from here; He heads for it, calling over his shoulder, "Anyway, I think you must have been drinking too, since my name isn't even D--" 

He sees himself in the mirror and goes dead silent.

"We've talked about this, Dorian," Mahanon calls, heading out for the kitchen to put on some coffee.

"Aaa-aaaah," he says tremulously, not loudly.

Mahanon puts on the coffee and places a box of cereal on the table along with a couple of bowls before he returns to the bedroom, pulling on some pajama pants.

"Hooo," Alistair sighs, coming back out of the bathroom and looking exactly the same amount of disheveled. "Wow! I've never had a dream like this before. Apparently my subconscious is… thinking about waking up with people, and is also a devilishly handsome man with sultry eyes and a full mustache. It's just… not what I would have expected from my innermost mind."

"Complimenting yourself now? Sexy barista your dream job?" Mahanon teases. He remains shirtless.

"Could you, um, wear a shirt?" he says faintly. "Can  _ I _ wear a shirt?"

Mahanon sighs. "Were you smoking something with Cyrnarel or Zevran last night?"

"Hey, I know those guys in real life! But--no."

"Uh-huh."

"Would you believe I've never even smoked elfroot? I'll tell you a secret, though: I've been wanting to try."

"Dorian, you've smoked elfroot. Look, I'll call you in sick from work, alright?" Mahanon has no suspicions of demon possession, though he has little idea why Dorian’s acting so odd.

"Oh, no I can't skip--ah well. Actually. Since this is a dream, I guess go ahead. I'll be awake soon enough."

Mahanon pinches his shoulder. "You're high, and we're going to talk later."

"Ow! Hey--aren't you supposed to wake up when you get pinched in a dream? Or do you have to pinch  _ yourself _ ..."

"Coffee," Mahanon says. "Come on."

"Ooh--or is it that you can't  _ feel _ a pinch in a dream?"

"Who did you smoke with?"

"I told you, I've never smoked."

"Sure thing, Dorian."

"You know, I just can't really get into the name aspect of this so-called fantasy. Just call me Alistair. Alistair Theirin. I mean, that's my full name, but just… Alistair is fine, for casual conversation."

"Alistair's just some guy who frequents the cafe."

"Ouch."

He grabs Alistair’s arm. "Coffee."

"I can definitely feel that! Wow! Wait, doesn't that mean that you're  _ not _ dreaming?" A thought wiggles into Alistair’s mind: Dorian was one of the people working at the cafe, wasn’t he?

"You're not dreaming, but you've just said you're Fereldan, so there is definitely something wrong."

"Well, that;s because I am Fereldan. Haha…" He falters. "Oh. I…don't think I'm dreaming."

"You're Tevinter, and I'm taking you to the hospital if this doesn't pass soon."

"Oh my god. I said a lot of things. Under the false impression that I wasn't awake. Oh my god, I'm in the wrong body!"

"Coffee first, hospital later."

"No, no, no--listen. Something is very, very wrong here, and it's not what you think it is."

"Uh-huh."

"Seriously. This is some kind of magic thing. Yeah--that's a start. So we know we're gonna need a mage to fix it!"

"You're a mage. I'm a mage."

"I'm a mage?" His voice rises, cracks.

"Like every other Tevinter noble."

"No, that's bad! I don't know the first thing about magic, I'm going to set something on fire!"

Mahanon sighs. "Let's say you are Alistair. How do we prove that?"

"Ask me something only Alistair would know. No--wait. Ask me something Dorian  _ would _ know. Or--I don't know. One of those."

"What's my name?"

"I…it starts with an M? You--you're Zevran's other--well, Zevran's boyfriend."

"Mahanon," he says dryly, heading back to the bedside table. "What's your number?"

He recites his own (Alistair's) phone number.

Which Mahanon dials, sitting on the bed. 

He converses with the person who should be Alistair, but is apparently Dorian, just woken up by the phone call. Mahanon eyes Alistair curiously during the call, telling Dorian to calm down and come on over before he hangs up.

"Well? Was I right?"

"I don't understand it." He pockets the phone. "Coffee. I need coffee."

"Can you please tell me where I can find some clothes first?"

"Those drawers," Mahanon says, pointing.

"Thanks."

Mahanon heads out to grab coffee for himself, remaining shirtless. He's not sure what to make of all this--it's confusing, to be sure. Maybe he'll give Solas a call.

Alistair, on the other hand, dresses himself gratefully, and appears in the kitchen, trying desperately to look away from Mahanon. "I think I will take you up on that coffee."

"There's mugs in the cupboard above the coffee pot," Mahanon says, sitting at the table with his own cup.

"Thanks." He sits across from Mahanon, keeping his eyes on his mug once he's poured his coffee.

"So... You're really Alistair?"

"Yep. And having a hell of a morning so far."

"And you think Dorian's attractive as hell." Mahanon's lips quirk upward. "At least he didn't wake up in a stranger's arms, I suppose."

"Please, just… forget all the other things I said right up until this point," he says, cheeks red.

"Theirin?"

"I didn't say--" He grimaces. "I did say that.  _ Please _ forget that."

"Well, I won't pry or spread it, if that's what you want."

"Most certainly. No one's supposed to know at all."

"We can start making sense of this mess when Dorian's here." Mahanon pulls his phone out of his pocket, texting Bull to say Dorian's off sick. "I'm going to call in sick myself," he says, dialing the library's number. "At least for today."

* * *

Cyrnarel's lying on the couch by the time Bull and Jowan reach their house, already tired and fed up for the day.

Jack is sitting curled-up beside the couch, feeling sheltered by its arm. Bull's body is sporting a few more welts and bruises than earlier, but none as bad as the lump on the back of his head. He's mostly been crying on and off, trying to keep as quiet as he can. 

Jowan's got Jack's iPad, phone, and a few comfort items (heavy chenille throw, something that looks like a large plastic egg, and a rather ratty looking string of pony beads). He's had a crying jag himself, mostly just from the stress, but he has managed to get his arm freshly bandaged and gotten himself and Bull over to the apartment.

"Hey kadan," Bull says once he's there, avoiding looking at Jack. He ruffles Cyrnarel's hair. "You doing alright?"

He's assuming no, considering the elf isn’t even fully dressed. 

"Sounds fuckin' weird when you talk." 

"Feels fuckin' weird when I talk."

Jowan likewise checks on Jack, draping the blanket around his shoulders and giving him his iPad and phone before perching himself on the arm of the couch. Jack takes his ankle, holding it loosely. "So…what now?"

"You two are the mages," Cyrnarel says. "Might give us someplace to start." 

Bull nudges Cyrnarel and finds a spot on the couch, leaving them resting their head in his lap. "Didn't even know this shit was possible."

"Technically Jack is not actually a mage right now--he is." He jerks his head at Bull.

"Let's not," Bull says flatly. 

"You know the magic shit, at least," Cyrnarel says. "I mean, so do Dorian and Mahanon, but Mahanon's at work. Dorian's... probably sick, I guess."

"Well, I can start us off,” Jowan says. “As a mage, I have no idea what's going on here or how to fix it."

"Jack?" Cyrnarel asks.

"Old mage shit," he says, now that he has his iPad. "Antique market."

"..You really think?"

"Only thing I can think of."

"It's a start, I guess." 

Bull groans. "Only person I know who deals with that stuff is Solas."

"Do we not like Solas?" Jowan asks.

"He's a dick," Cyrnarel says. 

"He's a scholar," Bull says. "Uptight, but he's smart."

"So we call him," Jack says.

"We can try Dorian first," Cyrnarel says. "Did anyone buy anything yesterday?"

"Zevran did."

"That could be important."

"Call him too?" Jack suggests.

"Yeah." 

"And hope nobody else got caught up in this," Bull says.

"I want it to stop."

"Me too." Bull waves a hand around his head. "This is just weird."

"Everything feels so wrong. It hurts. Too big."

"We'll get it soon, yeah?” Cyrnarel says. “Bull, your phone's still in the bedroom." 

"I'll make a few calls," Bull says. "There any coffee left?" 

"Didn't make any." 

"Don't worry about it." Bull gets up and heads for the kitchen.

"I can make coffee," Jowan volunteers.

"Nah, I've got it," Bull says. "It'll only take a minute." 

And he's got it brewing in the promised minute, making calls the next, and soon he's got Mahanon, Dorian, and Alistair on the way. 

"This is gonna be a problem," he says once he's finished, pouring himself some coffee.

"What's wrong?" Jack asks.

"It's not just us. You want a cup?"

"Yes please."

"Jowan?"

"Definitely, thanks."

Bull pours two cups, brings them over, and then pours a third. "Cyrnarel?" 

"No." 

He sits back down with his coffee and Cyrnarel sits up, leaning against him.

"Dorian and Alistair got caught up in it."

"A lot," Jack notes. "Zevran okay?"

"Pissed off, but sounds alright."

"Good. Check on Sera?"

"Might as well. Ellana and Josephine too, while I'm at it." He sends out texts instead for them, then flexes his left hand--he's got all of his fingers now. "Really fuckin' weird."

"Everything feels wrong," he repeats.

"Least we all know each other," Cyrnarel says,

"That's really lucky," Jowan agrees. "Someone could be dead right now, if we didn't."

"You sound pretty convinced there," Bull says.

"Hey, I'm not saying it wouldn't be me."

"You weren't gonna take any chances, at least."

"You thought I had a demon," Jack says, rocking a little. "Were you going to call the Templars?" 

"No, Jack."

"No, he was gonna deal with it all himself," Bull says. “Kinda scary.”

"I owe you that much respect." 

"Yeah." Jack sighs.

"Doesn't mean I like your methods, but I won't turn you over to the Templars."

"Methods?" Jack asks. 

Jowan whips his head around and stares at Bull and then makes a very quick quelling gesture, hand across his throat.

"Yeah," Bull continues calmly. "Seemed like he was about to burn the place down. Mages who get that dangerous that fast don't tend to last long. Me, I respect that."

Jowan closes his eyes briefly, allowing himself to breathe again.

Jack accepts this. After a moment of quiet, he says, "I hit your head. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

"I've had worse."

"I got scared."

"Don't worry about it. This really isn't a normal situation."

"No. At least I have my tablet now. And Cyrnarel understands sign. That helped."

"I'm not that good at it," they say. "And I can't sign." 

"Sure you can," Bull says. He checks his phone. "Sera's fine, at least, and Zevran is demanding free coffee."

"It helped," Jack insists. "It's scary when no one can understand you."

"I'd better brush up on it then. I'm not really fluent."

"Well, mostly I have my iPad."

"But that's not--nevermind."

"You made me waffles too."

"You're big. Bull's big. You gotta eat." 

"You ate too, right?" Bull asks. 

"Course I did." It's a lie, but they're not sure if Jack was taking note of it or not.

Jack wasn't; he's processing significantly less than usual. "You're nice. I like you."

"I like you too." And suddenly they're self conscious with Jowan there, shifting uncomfortably.

Jowan doesn't look their way, but he does seem to minutely relax somehow, kicking his leg a little so Jack can feel him moving. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! The body swap au that the tags promised :D


	11. Chapter 11

There's a rap on the door and it's Bull who answers, letting Mahanon and Alistair in. "I'm Bull," he says right away to clear up any confusion. "Jack's got the horns."

"Hi," says what  _ appears _ to be Dorian, although he's unusually disheveled, mustache un-waxed and hair disarranged. "I'm Alistair."

"Shit,” Bull says. “Dorian’s going to have a heart attack when he finds out you've gone out in public like this."

"He already knows," Mahanon says, curiously taking in Bull’s appearance. It’s just as unnerving to look at Jack--who he barely knows--and see Bull’s movements in him. "He saw Alistair, swore by the Maker, and nearly pulled out a comb. I’m not even sure he had one on him. He's contacting some people now, but he'll be over later."

"It was really scary, actually," Alistair says. "I thought I was about to get mauled."

"You may well have been," Mahanon tells him. His mouth twitches. "How's everyone else doing?"

"About as well as you can expect. There's still some coffee if you want it." Bull gestures with a thumb, accidentally bumping it into the wall. It’s been quite a while since he’s had this sort of field of vision.

"I've had mine, thanks." Alistair does yawn a little as he looks around though. "Sorry. Hard to wake up without my run."

"Surely you got a good enough adrenaline rush anyway," Mahanon says, sentence ending in a chirp.

"I'll say. It's all been  _ very _ alarming."

"Ouch."

"And listen, maybe I don't look as sleek as this Dorian fellow normally does, but it's not  _ my _ fault he has such a complicated hairdo." Alistair gingerly touches his hair. “It’s a lot of hair.”

"I'm sure he'll take the time to gather all his supplies before coming over," Mahanon assures him.

"While I appreciate the sentiment, getting my hair done by  _ myself _ might just be too creepy." Alistair half-shivers just thinking about it.

Bull laughs. "It's already weird enough, isn't it?" He gestures for them to follow, leading them from the kitchen hallway into the living room. 

"It is extremely weird, I--ah!" He turns to catch sight of Jack wearing Bull's body, huddled beside the couch. "Wow. You gave me a heart attack. You are  _ way _ too big to be hiding in a corner." 

Jack looks up at him with a sour expression. "Can I get you a ladder so you can get off my  _ back _ ?" Jack snarls aloud.

Mahanon squeezes Alistair’s shoulder. "Filter."

"Sorry." He winces.

"I think I might need that extra coffee," Mahanon says. “I’ll just go get that.” He pats Alistair’s shoulder, then walks backwards a few steps before turning and returning to the kitchen.  

Bull finds Cyrnarel on the couch--now sitting up instead of lying down--and takes a seat beside them, watching them peer over at Alistair. "You look like shit," they say.

"Oh, but I'm the one with no filter," Alistair says wryly.

"I think we all look like shit," Bull says. "It's been a stressful day." 

"Don't stare, either," Cyrnarel warns. They don't want him staring at Jack--or Bull's body--just for being Qunari. Bull claims not to mind much, but it’s worse among friends.

"I'm not. I'm not staring. Shall I stop moving and speaking as well?"

"Please." 

"Have a seat," Bull calls over to Mahanon, hearing him return. "There's room somewhere."

Not liking the arguing, Jack puts his head on his knees--and whimpers as he puts a nice tear along the couch's arm with a horn. Cyrnarel’s bitter mood wanes, and they look to Jowan. They're not sure they can comfort Jack without making things worse.

"Easy," Jowan says gently. "It's okay. We'll get it fixed later. No big deal. Right?" He gives Cyrn and Bull a prompting look.

"It'll be fine," Cyrnarel says. "Dorian's already on it, yeah? He's got connections."

"And the couch. We'll fix the couch." 

Jack gives him a slightly suspicious look, but relaxes, going quiet again.

"The couch is fine," Bull says. "And anything else that's been broken. You wouldn’t believe the shit I broke when I went through puberty. It's weird as shit not having horns, too. "

Jowan gives Bull a full-on smile; he really is good at reading things, and it's nice to feel like someone's on his team. "It's weird having them," Jack says, using the tablet again. "Balance is funny."

"My depth perception is fucked up, too."

"I don't like not being able to blink. It feels uneven." In fact, it bothers him more than the blindness in the eye.

"Yeah, well, we'll fix this soon enough."

"At least you just got stuck with my body and not my brain."

"Hey, don't get so hard on yourself," Bull says gently. "You're a good guy."

"Yeah, but if you had to deal with it without being used to it like I am, you'd lose it."

"I probably would." And Jack wouldn't be able to deal with Bull's issues, but he's not going to stop Jack's pity party with a pissing contest.

" _ I'm _ really trying not to lose it again." He touches his ears lightly, feeling their points.

"Do we have any ideas what caused this?" Mahanon asks, sipping at his coffee. He takes a seat on the glass coffee table, earning him a disapproving look from Bull. There’s not enough space on the couch unless he were to sit on the other arm.

"Jack's best guess was something from the antiques market," Jowan says.

"You really think so?"

"I can't think of anything else," Jack says. "Some of that stuff was old mage stuff; maybe some of it was magicked, or enchanted."

"It's something to look into. Did you buy anything there?"

"Just a normal sweater. But Zevran got that old dagger with the massive chrysoberyl in the haft."

"And you think it's magic?" Mahanon asks.

"Could be. I didn't see any runes, but it looked like it could be Circle make."

"It's a lead.” Cyrnarel sighs. "But what do we do with this mess? What if we can't fix it today?"

"Then we just have to put up with it." Jack says.

"We'll get it fixed," Bull insists. "I am not going to stay a mage."

Jack's head pops into view over the side of the couch; already on edge, he looks particularly irritable. "Excuse me?"

"I don't have a problem with mages, but being one? Not my thing."

He looks at Bull another moment, then settles back, grudgingly accepting the answer. "You'll be fine."

"We can call Zevran," Bull suggests. "See about his trinket."

"Good idea."

"I'll call," Mahanon says, placing his mug on a table. "What about the cafe?"

"We can make it work," Bull says.

"People can go to Starbucks for a day, surely," Jowan says. "And hopefully we'll get this figured out before too much longer."

"We can still run the cafe like this," Bull says. “I mean, it’s gonna be weird if we just shut it down for the day.” Mahanon stands and pulls out his phone, heading to another room to make his call. 

Cyrnarel sighs, taking Bull’s hand. "We've got other priorities."

"Yes. Exactly. You can't exactly get this fixed if you're running the cafe," Jowan says.

"Magic shit doesn't get fixed in a day. Bull and Alistair have to learn to fight off demons."

"It's not that hard," Jack says.

"You've been doing it over a decade now," Cyrnarel points out. 

"So have you, technically. Anyone can be possessed."

"I've never really had demons hop in my dreams to tempt me."

"Me neither."

"Really?"

"Really. Not once."

"Oh. Well." They stand up and head for the bedroom. "I'll just be a minute." 

Mahanon returns a couple minutes later, more coffee in his mug. "Zevran's on his way with the dagger. The  _ broken _ dagger."

"Uh oh," Jack says aloud, then adds, "When did it break?"

"Sometime last night, he said. Too fragile to throw at a target."

"So… probably right around the time this happened."

"Must've been past two in the morning," Bull says.

"You don't throw knives at two in the morning?" Jack jokes.

"Only on a really good night," he says, winking.

Jack giggles a little, and Jowan gives Bull a look of gratitude.

Mahanon checks his phone. "Dorian's got no leads yet, but he's still contacting people. Speaking of which, all affected parties should have a few talks, I think." He gives Bull a pointed look.

"A few talks?" Jack frowns.

"I'm not sure how keen Alistair would be on me sleeping with Dorian while this is going on. For example."

"Oh." Jack reddens. "I didn't think of that."

“Really, Mahanon?” Cyrnarel asks. “Seriously?”

“It’s an example, okay? Consent and boundaries are important for a lot of things, not only sex. I’m just making a point here.”

"We'll solve this quick enough," Bull says. “Really.”

"Let's hope," Alistair says. "I'd rather like to be there for my first time."

Mahanon laughs. "I won't do anything, don't worry."

"You're a virgin?" Jack asks. 

"Jack!" Jowan scolds as Alistair goes beet red.

Bull cracks up and Cyrnarel returns, having attached their prosthetic and gotten a long-sleeve shirt, no gloves. "What we laughing at now?" they ask, tired but attempting to engage.

"Oh, nothing," Alistair says. "I'm just being mocked mercilessly, that's all."

"Is it the mustache?"

"It would be all right if it was the mustache. The mustache isn't my responsibility."

"Well, it looks ridiculous." 

"They think it looks ridiculous on Dorian, too," Mahanon assures him.

"So do I! I'm glad we're in agreement."

"Ohhhhh, that's harsh," Bull says.

"It  _ tickles _ ."

"He puts way too much effort into that thing," Cyrnarel says, heading for the kitchen.

"It's a nice mustache," Jack says.

"I agree," Mahanon says. "You'd look weird without it. Um, he would."

"Just don't let him maul me and I'll do nothing to harm it."

"I think you're safe unless you try to remove it."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Cyrnarel returns with coffee, sitting back down beside Bull. "You alright, Jack?"

"Okay." He's still rocking a little, rubbing the edge of the blanket between the fingers of his free hand.

"Good." They look to Jowan for reassurance.

Jowan smiles at them. He's gathered by now that Cyrnarel looked after Jack through the whole awful morning, and that's earned them some major points. 

"You can sit with me," Jack offers. "I mean. If you want to."

Cyrnarel sighs. "This is all just weird." 

A knock sounds on the door. "That's early," Mahanon says.

"The sooner the better!" says Alistair.

"I didn't think Zevran could  _ fly _ ," Mahanon says, putting his coffee down to answer the door.

"Zevran could fly," Jack echoes hopefully, leaning forward to peer through the hallway.

Mahanon opens the door. 

He closes the door. 

"Who told them?" he calls back, sounding annoyed.

Jowan frowns, and Alistair asks, "Who?"

The door opens again and in come a redhead Dalish woman and a curly-haired human woman, both dressed comfortably in warm fall sweaters. (They even match: They’re the same style, but one is brown, the other gold.) The Dalish gives Mahanon a quick hug (and he looks a little put off by it) and the human gives him a gentle pat on the shoulder, closing the door behind her and making her way to the living room. 

"Well, it certainly is lively," she says, accent heavily Antivan.

Jack shrinks further into his corner, discomfited by the appearance of people he's never met before, pulling the blanket closer around his shoulders. 

"Er, hi," Alistair says. "Is this a social call, or are you here to, ah, help us with our issue?"

"Bull implied something was wrong," the elf says, walking over to Jack. "Considering the state of your mustache, I think our assumption was right." 

"Not the best time, Ellana," Cyrnarel says.

Jack pulls back, right against the sofa, staring at her suspiciously.

Ellana kneels down beside him. "What's going on?" she asks. 

"It's really quite complicated and you should probably leave," Mahanon says anxiously. 

"He needs space," Cyrnarel says, hopping up and trying to nudge Jack to stand. "Someone else can explain, yeah?"

"I don't know you," Jack growls aloud, trying to inch away from her.

"Space," Cyrnarel says again. "Cmon, let's go, yeah? Get you somewhere quieter." 

"What the hell do you mean you don't know me?" Ellana asks.

Jack stands, holding his head oddly, hands near his ears. After a moment he bends back down to get his tablet, coming alarmingly close to putting Ellana's eye out in the process. Jowan hops up from the arm of the couch, ready to step between Jack and Ellana. "Hey. You heard the--uh, Cyrnarel." 

"What's going on here?" Ellana asks suspiciously. 

"Probably exactly why you were texted," Josephine says. 

"There's coffee," Mahanon offers. "You might need it." 

Cyrnarel guides Jack away and back to the bedroom, shutting the door behind them. He sits on the bed, looking off to one side. "Thanks."

"It's too crowded out there, and they're both pretty familiar with Bull," Cyrnarel says, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the bed. "It's stressful."

"Yeah. I hate this."

"At least Dorian's looking into it."

"I feel like I'm invading Bull's privacy so much without even meaning to. And I'm not exactly keen on him doing the same with me."

"I don't think Bull has a concept of privacy. For himself, I mean. Mostly."

"That's something, I guess."

They nod. "You wanna stay in here a while?" They're not keen on any more social interaction today.

"Yes, please."

"You can lie down. Sleep. Whatever." Their voice lowers. "Oh, um. The words on Bull's thigh. Don't mention them." The words are faded, unlike the bold ones over his chest. Words from a soulmate who’s passed on.

"I hadn't even looked at them."

"Pretend they don't exist."

"Okay."

Cyrnarel nods, leaning against the wall. "I'm sorry for canceling our date earlier."

"It's okay. You didn't change your mind? About me?"

"No, no, I didn't." It's still definitely weird talking to him like this, with this body. "But I went too fast."

He nods. "I understand."

"And I had one hell of a week. I always do when I miss a dose." Cyrnarel takes a deep breath. “I take some pretty important medicines.”

"Oh, I see."

"I just needed some time, yeah?"

"Yeah. It's okay." He smiles a little. "I don't mean to say I'm glad you had a hard week, but it's… sort of a relief to know it's not something I did."

"Yeah, no, you're good. You're fine."

"Is it okay if you stay in here with me? For a little?"

"Yeah. I don't want to deal with this mess right now."

"Me neither."

They stand up. "I'll go grab our coffees, yeah? I’ll be right back."

"Thank you." He smiles, drawing his knees up so that he's curled on the bed.

They return with both drinks, kicking the door closed behind them and setting Jack's on the bedside table. "You need anything?"

"No. I'm okay. It's better in here. Quiet, darker."

They sit on the bed near him. "I'm sorry about your words, too."

"What do you mean? Bull seeing them?"

"What? Oh, no. Your words. The ones you said to me."

"Oh. You don't have to apologize."

"I messed them up."

"People deal with things in different ways. Everyone doesn't have to be happy about their words."

"No," they say firmly. "Your words are fine. I meant..."

"It's okay. I promise."

"You sure? It--I really don't have a problem with them."

"What matters is that you remembered them, and gave me a chance."

"Right." They sigh. "But I don't want to talk about it more, yeah? Not now."

"Okay."

They sip at their coffee and put it down, lying back on the bed. Carefully, Jack lays back as well, pulling his blanket and his iPad up onto his chest.

"You got any fuckin' idea what to look at to figure this shit out?” Cyrnarel asks. “I know Dorian's looking at shit, but still..."

"I wish I did. I could e-mail Irving, I guess."

"Is he gonna say shit to any Templars?"

"No, he wouldn't do that."

"Then it's worth a shot."

Jack grimaces. "Yeah."

"We can see what Dorian's got first. I hope he's got something."

"Me too."

* * *

Back in the living room, Ellana and Josephine have received their explanations and seated themselves on the couch. 

"So who's this?" Ellana asks, jerking her head towards Jowan.

"I'm Jowan, and I'm right here."

"Nice to meet you, 'right here.'"

"I just said I'm  _ Jowan _ . I'm Jack's roommate."

"Please, do forgive her. She was only joking," Josephine says with a slightly strained smile. 

Mahanon sighs and checks his phone. "You're not mages. I don't think you can help." 

"And how much have you helped?" Bull asks, making him scowl.

"Okay--everyone just take a deep breath," Alistair suggests. "No need to snap at one another."

"Surely we can help in some way," Josephine says. "You said it was an antique, yes? Perhaps I can find someone who knows something about it." 

"Until you go back to work," Ellana says. 

"I have taken the day off. Hopefully that is all we will need."

"Okay, so between the mages and Antiques Roadshow, we should be able to get this figured out. Right? That's good!" Alistair is trying very hard to be cheery.

"Depends on how reversal works," Ellana says. "I've never even heard of this happening."

"Neither have any of our mages, apparently, but everyone seems to be in agreement that one way or another, it's  _ definitely _ magic."

"It's definitely not anything else," Bull says.

"We just have to figure out what kind. And how to undo it. And then we have to do that. Perfectly simple!"

"You're not helping," Bull says.

He goes rather abruptly silent, opening his mouth and then shutting it again.

"The poor guy's just stressed," Mahanon says. "You're not helping, either. You look far too dour for Jack's age." 

And Bull looks even more dour at that. “I’m older than him, but I’m not  _ old _ .”

"It looks really spooky, how differently you move," Jowan says quietly.

"I don't have any muscles, Jowan. I'm a twig!"

"I'm sorry to say, but  _ I'm _ a twig. You're just normal."

"Have you seen me?" Bull asks, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the bedroom.

"I'm just saying, it could be worse. We're both mages, our schools don't put a heavy emphasis on physical education."

"Yeah, you could've got Cyrn's body," Ellana says. "Then you'd be tiny." 

"At least things could get--" 

"Does anyone have any plans for lunch?" Josephine interrupts. "If we are expecting to stay here for a while, it might be a good idea to sort that out."

"Oh, I can't show myself like this," says Alistair. "I already e-mailed my commanding officer that I was sick."

"You are in the military?" Josephine asks, raising an eyebrow. 

"I think she meant ordering food," Ellana says.

"I'm a Grey Warden." He sighs. "What I mean is, I have no plans for lunch. Because I'm here, twirling my mustache."

"It looks rather limp," Ellana says. 

A knock sounds at the door and Mahanon stands again. "Should be Zevran."

"Oh good."

And indeed it is. Zevran walks in calmly, intimidated by the amount of people here and feeling at least a little guilty over what may have been his fault, though he hides it well. "Ah, have I missed the party already?"

"We're just getting started. I'm Alistair, if you hadn't heard. And that's… Bull, I guess? Over there. Jack's in the back bedroom with Cyrnarel."

"In the bedroom already? How scandalous!" 

"Think it got too busy for them," Bull says. "I'd leave them be unless you want to text." 

Zevran hesitates. "That is... very strange. You, talking like that."

"Spooky, isn't it?" Jowan shivers. "And the way he looks right at you all the time."

"Well, I am rather used to that from Bull, but... Yes. Bull, please cease talking and looking at people." 

"Only if you shut your mouth." 

"Ah. We have reached an impasse."

"So let's see this dagger you've got," Jowan says.

Zevran pulls a small bag out of his pocket and places it on the coffee table, unzipping it and pouring out the contents. The blade is mostly intact, though with some small pieces having chipped off, and the gem on the hilt is lined with cracks. 

"You broke it," Josephine says. 

"It broke," Zevran clarifies. “Very important difference.”

"…huh. Jack could tell you if that's magicked better than I can," Jowan says.

Mahanon pokes at it curiously. 

"Can you tell?" Ellana asks. 

"I'm not that familiar with enchanted items," Mahanon says. "Magic, sure, but I couldn't tell you what."

"It's the best lead we've got so far, at least until we hear from… Dorian." Alistair leans forward, peering at the dagger.

Zevran takes a seat next to Bull, getting him an odd look from Mahanon. "He is on his way, then?" 

"Soon," Mahanon says. "He was contacting some friends in Tevinter. Or associates."

"We're very hopeful that someone, somewhere, will know something," Alistair says.

"Let us hope, then," Zevran says.

"Soon, ideally. Eventually someone's going to come looking for me."

"And Dorian would be rather upset about that."

"So would I."

"That makes it sound like you're glad to be a Warden."

"I am. I volunteered."

"I have not heard of many volunteers," Zevran says. “Most are conscripted or… not so willingly volunteer.”

"There are some."

"I suppose you have your reasons."

"We give our lives to protect people."

"You do indeed," Zevran says dryly.

"It's… you know, work that really  _ means _ something." He reddens and looks away, self-conscious.

Ellana pats his shoulder. "We get it, you're very passionate."

He presses his hands to his burning cheeks. "I should just stop talking."

"What were you up to last night, Alistair?" Mahanon asks.

"Nothing interesting, really. We had dinner and a couple of beers, played a few hands of Wicked Grace."

"Nothing magical."

"No, not at all."

"But if the dagger is mine, why was I not affected?" Zevran asks. 

"Maybe you were and you just don't know it yet," Mahanon says.

"You two should look at it, touch it, see if you can sense anything," Jowan says, pointing at Mahanon and Bull.

"Rather not, thanks," Bull says. 

"Like I said, I can't tell much from enchanted items," Mahanon says. "I've never had much exposure to them."

"Me neither. You're a different story," Jowan says to Bull. "Jack's definitely got the juice for it."

"And you think I'm gonna be able to do something with that?"

"With help, probably. It's not as if it's a  _ spell _ , or something complicated."

"I don't like the thought of it." He glares at the dagger.

"Right. The old 'maybe if I ignore magic it'll go away.'"

"Watch it," he growls.

Jowan goes meek and silent, looking at his hands.

Bull sighs slowly, considering his options. He rolls his shoulders. "If I were to try anything, what would I have to do? Just touch it?"

"No, never mind." Jowan smiles anxiously. "You were right. Dorian or whoever can do it when he comes."

"I'm not gonna attack you or anything."

His smile looks a little frozen. "It's fine." 

"Hey--" Alistair leans forward. "I just remembered, _ I'm Dorian _ . I'll do it."

Zevran squints at him. "You enjoy volunteering for things."

"It's not like it was on my agenda for the day, I'm just trying to make myself useful."

"Let's give it a go, then," Ellana says. "And pray nothing breaks."

"So I just… touch it," Alistair repeats, repeating Bull's words. 

"Touch it and sort of… I don't know, listen to it. But not with your ears." 

Alistair grimaces, and spreads his hands out over the pieces of the dagger, closing his eyes and slowly lowering his palms until they're touching it. "I'll do my best."

Mahanon leans forward curiously and Bull leans back, tired of magic for the day. Month. Year.

"Okay, um… I don't know if I'm doing it right, but it feels kind of… fizzy."

"Fizzy," Bull echoes, and Josephine shushes him,

"It is definitely not a fizzy feeling I'm familiar with," he adds.

"How many magical feelings are you familiar with?" Zevran asks.

"None."

"Jowan, any thoughts?" Mahanon asks, looking up.

"I think it seems like a pretty good indicator it's magicked somehow."

"But what sort of magic? What's its origin?"

"I expect you probably have to actually know what you're doing to figure that out," Jowan says dejectedly.

"Which leaves us relying on Dorian and his contacts."

"But, now we know it  _ is _ magicked--so it's pretty likely our culprit."

"Unless this item being enchanted was entirely unrelated," Zevran says. "Not that it is my fault in the first place, of course."

"That would be quite a coincidence," says Alistair.

"Let us hope, then."

He sighs, leaning back and massaging his temples a bit. "Indeed."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having fun rereading, so have a long chapter!

Dorian arrives within the next hour, laptop tucked under his arm and a Starbucks in his other hand. "Alistair, you look absolutely miserable," he says, striding into the living room. "And by you, I mean  _ you _ . You might as well shave off the mustache at this point."

"Well, I just thought you might want it back eventually."

"You look glum. Is that just how I look, or is that you?"

"I'm just getting in touch with my brand new magic, and it's giving me a bit of a headache. But on the plus side, we have determined that that--" He points to the dagger. "--has been… enspelled. Or enchanted. Or something."

"Well, the lack of the Fade has given me a headache as well, so I do believe that makes us even. Have we found anything more than that?"

"No. Unfortunately not. We were hoping you were going to burst in with good news."

"The good news is I have contacts looking for information on this, though not all of them are aware of what exactly 'this' is." 

"Would images help?" Josephine asks, pulling out her phone. "I'm going to send some to my own contacts." 

"They probably would. Where are Bull and Cyrnarel?"

"Bull's right there," Alistair points to the couch, where what looks like Jack is buried in his phone. "Cyrnarel and  _ Jack _ have retreated to the bedroom."

"...ah, yes, right, those two switched. You two switched. Your hair is a mess, by the way, Alistair."

"My hair, or my body's hair?"

"Your hair."

"All right, well first of all we already discussed this at your apartment earlier today, and secondly, be grateful it's clean and brushed."

"The bad news is, nobody I know has even heard of something like this so far."

"Damn." He chews his lower lip, frowning.

"With luck, I will hear back from some of them within the week."

"Jack could get in touch with the First Enchanter at our Circle, maybe," Jowan says.

"Something to suggest when he comes out, then."

"If he comes out."

"I doubt he could remain hidden away in a single room that long, even as nice a place as I imagine Bull's room to be," Dorian says.

"It's just a lot out here, that's all."

Despite emails back and forth with any number of mages and antiques experts, nobody comes up with anything, and by the evening they're once more down to Bull, Jowan, and Alistair in the living room, trying to dig things up on the internet. Contrary to Dorian's belief, Cyrnarel and Jack have remained in the bedroom except for short meals, and watched How It's Made on a tablet for a good while after one of Jack's meltdowns.

Jowan's been in a couple of times to check on Jack (and also on Cyrnarel, offering occasionally to give them a break from listening to Jack's intermittent wails and sobs), but as the night falls, he's silent like the rest, painstakingly googling every relevant phrase he can think of on his phone.

Bull heaves a long, drawn-out sigh, finally putting his laptop down. "Why don't you guys go on home?" he says quietly. "Jack can stay the night."

Jowan hesitates, worried about leaving Jack behind, but equally not eager to try to talk him into getting in the car. Finally he nods, twisting his ponytail. "Call me if you need anything. Doesn't matter what time," he mumbles, still nervous of Bull.

"Will do. And uh, you might want to crash at Dorian's place. In case of any more weird shit," he says to Alistair.

"Right. Maker, what am I gonna tell the commander if this doesn't sort itself out." Alistair yawns, dragging his fingers through his hair, leaving it even more disarranged than before.

"Take your time figuring that one out."

"Well, hopefully I only get demoted for missing drills, and not something more important. G'night."

"Night. See you... whenever, I guess." 

Bull gently knocks on the door to the bedroom, pushing it open to check on Cyrnarel and Jack. Cyrnarel's fallen asleep on the bed already, curled up tightly and looking a little cold.

Jack's awake, but looking exhausted from multiple meltdowns. He's still curled up, but it's not a tight tuck anymore so much as it is a jumble of limbs and horns. "Hey, boss," he says hoarsely.

"Hey. Everyone's gone home now. You can stay here; I'll sleep on the couch, alright? Call me if you need something."

He sits up, blinking heavily, and signs anxiously, "[I can't take your bed. I'll sleep on the couch.]"

"[How do you expect to do that with those horns?]" Bull signs fluently. "[Go on, take the bed.]"

"[Where's Jowan? Jowan went home?]"

"[Yeah. Sounds like he might get back here by dawn.]"

"[Nobody's mad? At me?]"

"[Why the hell would anyone be upset at you? You sprouted horns overnight, kid. It was a pain getting those over a decade.]"

"[I made a lot of noise. I broke the mirror.]"

"[...You broke the mirror? No, nevermind that. You just get some sleep. This whole situation's a headache, not you.]"

"[Okay. Goodnight.]"

"[Night.]" He heads out and leaves the two there to rest for the night, Cyrnarel unconsciously drifting closer to Jack over time. Jack lays on his back, awake most of the night, although he does snatch an hour here and there. He drifts off again near dawn, flopping an arm across Cyrnarel.

When he wakes, it's back in his body, lying on a couch in Bull's living room.

He's still disoriented by ending up in a different place than he went to sleep, but it doesn't take long before he realizes that his body is his own, and he can feel his magic again. He breathes a heavy sigh and flops back down, rolling onto his side and stimming with sheer relief.

And Bull wakes up just as relieved, though it feels like his body's run a marathon and his head kills. He groans, shifting and looking over at Cyrnarel, then pulling them close to his side and holding them tight. Whatever happened, he's glad, but he's also exhausted.

Still sleeping, Jowan is rather enjoying the warmth and the contact, but it's unusual enough that a few moments later his eyes spring open. He goes rigid all over, realizing that he has  _ no idea _ who's holding him.

"Hey, kadan, shh. It's just me," Bull's voice rumbles, stroking Jowan's hair.

"Don't… jump and accidentally strangle me or something," Jowan says in a hushed voice, "but it's  _ not _ just me."

"...Huh?" The tone doesn't quite match Cyrnarel, and Bull's putting the awful pieces together in his mind.

"It's Jowan, and I'm  _ really _ uncomfortable. No offense."

A pause, and then Bull pulls back from him, releasing him. "Shit. You're serious?"

"Yes." Jowan sits up, facing away from him and silently thanking the Maker that Cyrnarel slept in their clothes. He tries to hug himself, but only one arm answers; the other one just starts a deep, nagging ache.

Bull feels for his horns, glad that they're in place, and sits up. "This just keeps getting weirder."

"I was sort of hoping the opposite of this was going to happen," Jowan says. "You know--that it would all go back to normal."

"We'll have to see who else got fucked over today."

"You're you, though… oh, I'd better figure out where Jack ended up, and fast."

"I'll see who's got his body. You take it slow, alright?"

"…Yeah, okay. Um. Is everything supposed to hurt this much?"

"What hurts?"

"Um… my arm. And just general soreness, I guess."

"I'm gonna guess you don't really know why."

"If you're asking if I've figured out it's not there, I have."

"But not the rest of it. Look, Cyrnarel slept with the prosthetic on and you don't know how to use it--mind taking off your shirt so I can remove it?"

"Yeah, okay." Jowan gets his shirt most of the way off, whimpering as he fails to maneuver the prosthetic through the arm.

"Mind if I help?" Bull asks, resting his hands nearby.

"Please. Sorry."

"It's no trouble." He removes the shirt and unbuckles the prosthetic, setting it off to the side. "Cyrn’s not supposed to sleep with it on, but sometimes they do, anyway. Stretching will help the arm, but I'm afraid there's not much for the rest of the pain. If you get itchy, there's some salve on the table here."

"Okay. Thanks." It still feels odd, and far from painless, but he does breathe a little easier once the prosthetic is off.

Bull hands back the shirt. "You hungry? I can get breakfast going. And I'll check on Jack."

"…Yeah. Yeah, I'm hungry. Thanks." He's able to get the shirt back on without help, though not without fumbling.

Bull gets up to check on Jack, who he hopes is actually Jack today. He removes the shirt he apparently slept with on the way--he'd rather not wear them around the house.

Jack turns over onto his belly on the couch, peeking up over the arm with wide brown eyes. He takes Bull in and looks aside, signing, "[Good morning. Who're you today? I'm me.]"

"[I'm Bull, thankfully.]"

"[Oh, thank goodness. It's over.]"

"Ehhhh." He scratches the back of his head, fighting back a wince at the pain. "Not quite."

"Nnnn. [What do you mean?]"

"[Cyrnarel isn't Cyrnarel.]"

"[Oh no. That's very bad. Who are they?]"

"Jowan."

"Well. Fuck."

"Yeah. I'm making breakfast, you hungry?"

"[Yes. Can I help with--anything?]"

"Yeah. If Jowan starts freaking out, help him out."

"[Of course. I'll go check on him now.]" A thought occurs to him, and he shuts his eyes and sighs. "[This is going to be really awkward.]"

"[It's already awkward.]"

"[I can't wait to see what other surprises the day has in store,]" he says wryly, standing up.

Bull starts pulling food out the fridge. "Oh, and tell him he can't have dairy."

"[No dairy. I remember. Eggs with olive oil.]"

"...Yeah. Make sure he's doing alright."

"Okay." He manages to get his hands down from his ears to his sides, though he can't stop them from moving as he goes back to check on Jowan.

* * *

Bull's got food ready in half an hour, fresh pancakes with syrup and margarine for everyone. He sets them on the table and knocks on the bedroom door.

"Come in," Jowan calls. His eyes and nose are a little red, but otherwise he doesn't look too much worse for wear. Jack has reclaimed his blanket and iPad.

Bull pushes the door open. "I've got food made. You holding up alright?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." Or at least okay enough to put on a brave face.

Jack bounces up almost energetically, quite hungry.

"Come on, come eat something. I don't think Cyrn ate much yesterday."

Jowan nods. He's still nervous of Bull, but he's warming up again, bit by bit. He still lets Jack go first after Bull, though.

Bull puts on some coffee, letting them serve themselves before he grabs his own share. "Where'd you end up last night, Jowan?"

"Just home."

"Somewhere Cyrn's been before, then."

"I even fell asleep on the couch, so they won't be stuck in my bedroom."

"The couch?"

"Yeah, in our living room. He and Jack were hanging out in there."

"At least it's recognizable."

"Small blessings."

"Is your phone on silent?"

"No, I kept the ringer on in case you needed anything."

"So they won't miss it if I call. You feeling alright, Jack?"

Jack nods. "[Not great. Better.]"

"Cyrn was alright before they slept?"

"[Yeah. We were just watching TV on the tablet. They were really nice to me.]"

"Good. I'll call them after breakfast and check in with Dorian after."

"Okay." Jack seems content. Jowan is just glad someone seems to be taking charge.

Bull plows through his pancakes, heading back to the bedroom and returning with a comb, which he places on the table next to Jowan. "Your hair's sticking up everywhere," he says politely, then pulls out his phone to start making calls.

* * *

Meanwhile, Alistair is just waking up, not to his own body but a completely different set of sensations. "Oh, crap," he groans.

And he looks right into his own face, blinking blearily at him.

"Yikes."

"You needn't be so harsh, amatus."

"Double yikes. Hi, hello, this is Alistair."

Dorian stares at him blankly. "Alistair. Oh, yes. Rather like looking in a mirror, is it?"

"No, it's a lot creepier."

"I do hope it's Mahanon having a ride around in my body now."

"How do I end up a mage twice in a row? This isn't very well-organized."

"At least you haven't got any mustaches to ruin," Dorian says.

"Thank Andraste for that."

"You rather made a mess of mine yesterday."

"I've never had a mustache in my life!"

"Thank the Maker for that."

"You'd better not be thinking of growing one on my body."

"I'll get my body back first, thank you."

"Ah, good. Er, if you notice you're really, really hungry… it's normal."

"I figured that came with the fitness."

"Oh dear." He lets out a world weary sigh and puts a hand on Dorian's shoulder. "Listen. Take it from me. You might feel like you could eat a whole roast suckling pig, but you can't. You cannot do that."

"I'd have to find one in this city, first." Dorian pushes himself up, and he's wearing a set of his own pajamas; they're about the same size. Alistair, on the other hand, is naked. "The nightmares were a little more concerning. Rather frightening. Probably stress, I suppose."

Alistair winces. "No, I'm afraid that's normal too."

"Really? I got your nightmares?"

"Darkspawn, right? Sometimes a Broodmother, if you're  _ really _ lucky." The last Blight was long before Alistair was born, and he's never yet dreamed of an Archdemon.

"Darkspawn, and a very large, very ominous dragon. Felt like it could see right through me." Dorian shakes his head. "But they're only nightmares."

This time, Alistair has no quip on the tip of his tongue. He sits up, and his shock is apparent in that he appears to have completely forgotten that he's naked. "You saw  _ what _ ?"

Dorian blinks. "Yes."

"You're saying you saw a dragon."

"Yes."

"And you're sure it wasn't a very large Antivan crocodile?"

"It was a large, sickly-looking dragon that seemed rather... not friendly, but comfortable with the darkspawn. Commanding?"

His throat works as he swallows hard. "I've got to get my phone."

"It will be wherever you left it."

"Right. In the living room. With your body." He stands up, looking oddly… hunted. "It can, by the way. See right through you."

"What, a dream?"

"Not a dream. An Archdemon. When a Grey Warden dreams of a dragon, it's a sign of a coming Blight."

"You don't really think...."

"I don't know," Alistair says sharply. "All I do know is I've got to report that in."

Dorian raises his hands. "Alright, alright, report it in then. But you might want to grab a shirt before anyone else sees you."

"Oh,  _ damn _ .  All right so the drawers that aren't yours are--" he opens a drawer and goes bright red. "Oh dear."

"Try the drawer underneath," Dorian says, pointing.

Looking as if he'd like to sink through the floor, Alistair gathers clothes; he wears neither a binder nor a bra, not being clear on exactly how they operate. Which works just fine, as Mahanon doesn't always wear one around the house. 

Mahanon knocks on the door as Alistair's changing. "Hello?"

"Hi, I'm decent. I don't know about Dorian. You wouldn't happen to have my phone, would you?"

"I am quite decent," Dorian says, and Mahanon pushes open the door. 

"Alistair?" Mahanon asks.

"Yeah. Right here." He points at himself. "That's Dorian." He points at Dorian.

"Oh, good. I'm Mahanon. Still in the same place." He fiddles with his mustache. "If a bit furrier." 

"It is not fur." 

"It's strange."

"I told you! I told you it was weird!" Alistair exclaims. 

"Of course it is, we're not even in our own bodies!" Dorian pulls the phone out of his pocket, handing it to Alistair.

"Thanks." He steps back out of the way and begins texting furiously.

"Dorian, a word?" Mahanon says, and the two start talking quietly amongst themselves, Dorian giving at least one chuckle and sigh.

"Oh, by the way," Alistair calls, "If you suddenly get a sensation of nameless dread at any point, please let me know. I mean, normally it's not an issue in a city, but after that dream…"

"What?" Mahanon asks. "Why would that happen?" 

"Grey Warden things, it would seem," Dorian says. "Go on, deal with things before we get back to business." Mahanon kisses him on the cheek--the lips would be a little too weird at the moment--and heads for the bathroom.

Alistair blushes and turns away at the sight of what looks like Dorian kissing  _ him _ .

"Still rather awkward, isn't it?" Dorian says, pushing himself out of bed. "What does this all mean, then? A Blight. Lots of darkspawn, yes. And no doubt whatsoever?"

"No, there's doubt, and we should probably pray that I'm--you're--the only one who dreamed that dream. It's a sign, but it doesn't mean it's a Blight for sure."

"Let us hope, then."

"Yeah. And that this gets worked out before anything more happens--it's not as if I can have you go fight darkspawn in my body, and I certainly can't fight them in yours."

"Or in Mahanon's, I'd wager."

"…no. Not Mahanon's either. Wardens are immune to Blight. This body… isn't."

"Ah, yes. I've always wondered what made you immune." Dorian grabs his phone and checks his messages.

"I can't really tell you much about it. For the modern age, they give us a nondisclosure agreement to go along with the Oath. Suffice to say that the Oath is not merely words."

"Alright, alright, keeping secrets from your own body." Dorian sighs dramatically. "I do hope Jack and Bull are faring better today."

"Me too. Bull seemed to take it all right, but Jack looked miserable."

"Bull was a lot more stressed than he let on."

"That's not surprising. Seemed like the mage thing was really getting to him."

"He doesn't have a fondness for demons."

"It actually wasn't that bad, for me. Sort of interesting."

"Well, you know how the Qunari treat their mages." They both hear the shower going on in the bathroom, and it's odd even for Dorian to think of his body bathing without him.

"Yeah… I wonder if that's why Jowan got so touchy."

"That was also their first meeting, wasn't it? Bull's not so friendly when he's stressed."

"Is anyone? It was all…pretty tense."

"It was. It still is," Dorian says.

"Well. We're all keeping civil tongues in our heads, I guess. We've got to make the best of it; no point in snapping at one another, it won't help."

"Very true."

"You think I should call around and see what's up with the others? Given I've got my phone out already." Alistair gestures with his phone, having sent the text. His phone goes off then with a call from an unknown number. "Uh oh. Here--you answer it."

"Alright." Dorian takes the phone. "Hello?" 

He rolls his eyes. "No, it's still Dorian. But--" And he frowns. "Oh. Alistair has switched with Mahanon, too." A couple more moments and he's blushing. "Yes."

Alistair sighs with relief; at least Dorian doesn't have to pretend to be Alistair.

Dorian hangs up with a sigh in the middle of the other person talking. "It was Bull."

"What's up?"

"Jack and Bull are back to normal."

"Oh, that's good. At least  _ someone _ is." Alistair takes his phone back, placing it in his pocket.

"Cyrnarel and Jowan are not."

"So it's… spreading. Is what you're saying."

"Changing, at the very least."

"How is it choosing? I mean, several of us weren't even there when Zevran bought the thing."

"That's a very good question that we don't have an answer for."

"So what's the plan? Getting together for more research?"

"Part of it. More emails, more calls..." Dorian sighs and rubs his eyes. "Maker, this is a busy week."

"Hey. We'll get through it."

"At least one of us is happy with all of this."

"Look, I've already gotten way too close to way too many people's love lives. I don't want to know."

Dorian laughs, heading over to pull out some clothes. "Tell me what your Warden friends say about all this. Hopefully it really isn't a Blight."

"I'm still waiting to hear back. Hopefully no one decides to actually call."

"I'm sure you can come up with an excuse for the way your voice sounds."

"One hopes."

* * *

Bull is having a hard time reaching Cyrnarel, and he gives up after the third call. "You're certain your phone wasn't on silent?"

"I'm positive. Jack's never really spent the night away before, I wanted to be reachable. I could drive you over."

"Your car's there, and I'm not sure you could drive like this." He sighs. "I'll drive over there. You two can stay here."

"Okay. Good luck."

"Unless you want to pick something up from your place."

"Ah… I do take medication.” Jowan shifts, still a bit uncomfortable. “I should probably come so I can show Cyrnarel what to take."

"Right. Cyrnarel takes medication in the evening, so remind me about that if this is still going on then. Jack, you coming?"

"[I'll come,]" Jack signs, tucking his tablet under his arm. "[I've had an idea. I'll tell you in the car.]"

"Then let's get going."

Jack sits in front and Jowan in the back; the tablet's volume only goes up so loud.

"So. Here is my idea," Jack begins. "If we can get ahold of some Lyrium--just a few grains should be enough--I can go into the Fade, and maybe fix this."

"We talking legal or illegal?" Iron Bull asks.

"Illegal."

"You got contacts?"

"A few."

"No one trustworthy," Jowan cuts in, frowning.

"That's why it's illegal," Jack says.

"…I don't like it. It's too risky."

"Everything's a risk, Jowan."

"Mahanon's got contacts he trusts, but he's in a mess," Bull says. 

"We have to try," Jack insists. "This can't keep happening."

"You think going into the Fade can fix it?"

"I think it could, I can't know if it definitely will. But if the object is enspelled powerfully enough to do this, it should be duplicated in the Fade, and I can interact more directly with whatever magic or spirit is attached to it there."

"Sounds like a whole lot of shit to mess with, but I'd like this shit to stop."

"It is a lot of shit to mess with," Jowan protests. "Not to mention  _ dangerous as hell _ , Jack." 

Jack shrugs tightly. "Well, maybe our research contacts will come through, but this could be getting worse. What if I end up switched again? It's one thing to hurt my own body, but hurting someone else's is dangerous too."

"How long would it take you to get the lyrium?"

"It depends on when my contacts last picked up; could be right away, or it could be as long as a week."

"Might as well get on it now, whether you decide to try or not."

Jowan sits heavily back in his seat, folding his one arm across his chest. It doesn’t adequately express his displeasure, and with a huff he drops it back to his side. Jack nods and begins texting.

It's not long until Bull is parked in front of the apartments and climbing out of the car. "You doing alright, Jowan?"

"I'm fine, I just don't think you should be encouraging--" He remembers getting snapped at earlier and clams up. "Never mind. Just forget I said anything."

"All right, what'd I do to frighten you? Because that's exactly not what I wanted to do."

"Nothing. I'm not frightened," he insists, feeling even more exposed.

"I'm not gonna get pissed at you for disagreeing. I figure if we get the lyrium, we've got it in case we want to use it."

"He could die!"

"And if we find alternatives, what are the chances those will need lyrium too?"

"…pretty high," he admits unhappily.

"Right. What floor are you on?"

“Fourth. Listen, we could get in touch with the Circle, do it legally; I know Jack would rather dive headlong into the Fade than e-mail Irving, but he's the  _ First Enchanter _ , there's a pretty good chance he'll know what we're dealing with!"

"You're gonna get a First Enchanter all the way out here?" Bull asks, calling the elevator.

"He might just send someone, but still!"

"I guess it's something to consider."

Jack has caught up, and is not looking particularly happy. "No," he says, trotting to keep pace while typing, "It's not."

"I'll let you two sort that out."

And they don't. They do argue extensively about it all the way upstairs, mostly in sign though Jowan stumbles over his missing arm more than once.

Bull lets them lead the way to the door, and knocking on it doesn't get a response. "You got a key?" he asks Jack. Jack nods, digs in a pocket, and unlocks the door.

Cyrnarel's on the couch, sitting hunched over with their head in their hands, hair a mess. They look up as the group enters, eyes red and puffy, blinking at seeing Jowan walk in with their body.

"Hi," Jowan says softly, looking away, not wanting to scrutinize their upset--and also feeling deeply uncomfortable with seeing his own body from outside. 

Jack waves awkwardly, but doesn't avoid their gaze.

"Hi," Cyrnarel says, voice raspy. 

"Didn't pick up the phone?" Bull asks, sitting beside them and pulling them into a hug. They're rather dazed. "It's me, Bull. You alright?" 

They lean into his side quietly, too emotional to say much. Jowan shuffles off to gather his medications, and Jack sits on the floor.

"Mahanon and Alistair have switched. It's all a bit of a mess, but we've got some ideas to fix this." Cyrnarel rubs their left arm as Bull talks, poking at the flesh. Obviously the arm is there, but if he hits it just right, it will hurt; Jowan's still got that deep cut from the previous day. 

Jowan comes back in with three bottles and a glass of water. "Hey. Okay. So, uh… you should probably take these."

Cyrnarel frowns and sits up, feeling unbalanced with their left arm.

"This one's for the morning. This one's for tonight. And this one--" He shakes the third bottle. "Is a rescue med. I don't know if you'll need it, but just in case."

"What's it for?"

"Um. Anxiety."

"The rescue med."

"Yeah."

"What's the rescue med for? Why would I take it?"

"I--anxiety. Like, if you're having a panic attack."

"Oh. Okay. Um. I don't think I'll remember."

"…why don't you just take one now with the morning pill?” Jowan suggests. “That's fine."

"...sure. Yeah."

He hands over the bottles, and puts the water on the coffee table; it's been awkward and more than a little uncomfortable to hold multiple things in one hand and the crook of his elbow. It's awkward for Cyrnarel to take the medication, and their coordination is off in their left arm, spilling some of the water on the table before they put it down again. "Sorry, sorry."

"It's okay, no big deal--it's from Ikea." 

Jack hops up to get a napkin and cleans the table without a word, though he does offer Cyrnarel a small smile.

They lean back into Bull, covering their face with their hands. "This is a mess."

"Good news, though!" Jack says. "If someone can loan me money I can get the lyrium today."

Their head snaps up. "Lyrium?"

"Yeah. So I can muck about with that dagger properly, in the Fade."

"In the Fade? Jack..."

"It could work!"

"And you could die," they say seriously.

" _ Thank _ you!" Jowan says. 

Jack scowls. "I could, but I won't."

"There's got to be another way of doing this, yeah?" Cyrnarel asks. 

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Let's consider it before we hop to the potentially fatal options, yeah?"

"Gladly. I'm waiting to see if any of our research contacts come back with something. But it's the best idea we've had so far." 

"I already said we could--" Jowan starts. 

"For example," Jack interrupts him, "your idea is just terrible."

"What's your idea?" Cyrnarel asks. They're getting increasingly unnerved by watching their body do things without them.

"We get in touch with the enchanters at the Circle. They have all the knowledge, all the resources, not to mention mages experienced with trancing if it comes to that, and--" 

"We can't trust Irving!" Jack says, fingers tapping furiously on the tablet's surface.

That startles Cyrnarel. "Why not? He sounds like a good bet, why not?"

"He's just as likely to send Templars as anything else." 

"I don't think he would, Jack--" Jowan says. 

"What do you know?"

"Why Templars?” Cyrnarel asks. “You're not apostates."

Jowan has fallen silent, looking hurt. 

"It's not us--it's what's causing this that's the wild card. If he feels like we're at risk of… well, possession from it, he'll send Templars."

"But there isn't--" They halt, frowning. "No Templars."

"You look like you just remembered we've got a Dalish mage in our number."

"Yeah. He's... well, he's not exactly the sort that Templars like," they mumble. It's not that Dalish mages are supposed to be locked up, but the Circles get suspicious of them and brands many of them apostates even if they adhere to Circle laws. It's easier to arrest them when they get their lyrium from other sources.

"There you have it," Jack says.

"We can't risk Templars," Cyrnarel agrees.

"So we wait to hear back from Dorian's contacts. And if we don't…"

"Then we risk you." They're not happy with it.

"I'll be fine. I passed my Harrowing with flying colors."

They sigh. "It's still a risk."

"Everything's a risk."

"We should, I don't know, study it a few more days before you go trying shit, yeah?"

"I guess. I'd rather get it over with."

"Better not to rush."

"Better this doesn't keep happening. I don't think I can take it another time."

Cyrnarel glances at Jowan. "Yeah, but the lower the risk of anything happening to you, the better."

Jack sighs. "Yeah. We'll see what pans out."

They nod and take some deep breaths. 

"I'll make you some breakfast," Bull says, standing. 

"No, I'm--" 

"Really, it'll help. Anyone else want extra pancakes?"

Jack raises his hand. 

"I'm fine," Jowan mumbles.

"Great. You don't mind if I use your stuff, do you?"

"No, go ahead." 

Jack glances at Jowan and, suddenly, hugs him. "I'll show him where stuff is." He gets up to follow Bull.

Bull gathers the ingredients, opting for dairy milk for once since they don't have non-dairy, figuring Cyrnarel can have some today, occupying Jowan's body as they are. "You alright?"

"[Yeah. I was too hard on Jowan.]"

Bull nods. "He's concerned. How's he doing?"

"[Freaked out. Hiding it pretty well, actually.]”

"Yeah, waking up without a limb doesn't seem like a good start to the morning."

"[No.]" He sighs. "[I should have been gentler.]"

"We don't exactly have a lot of options. Like this, they might as well call Cyrnarel an apostate."

"[Jowan's not Harrowed either, so he's not really protected; and so they're not protected in his body.]"

"Dangerous for everyone."

"[Yeah. I… have my doubts that we're going to find another way to fix this. Other than what I was thinking of, I mean.]"

"It makes sense. We can't break the enchantment."

"[Listen--don't answer this aloud, but. Do you have a gun?]"

"[A pistol and a rifle.] Where's your frying pan?"

"[Okay. So. I…want you to be there, and I want you to have your pistol.]"

"[Shit, you want me to be the stand-in Templar?]"

"[I can't think of anyone else. Unless you think Dorian has the gumption.]"

"[I could, but I won't be lethal.]"

"[Well, is there anyone else? Sera, maybe?]" She doesn't really look like the sort to shoot someone in the head, but she's not overly attached to him, so it's something.

"[Nobody who's gonna shoot you dead unless absolutely necessary.]"

"[Then it's got to be you. And you've got to be able to commit.]"

"[I can commit, but my first reaction will not be to kill,]” Bull insists. “[I'll do only what's necessary.]"

"[Well. Hopefully it won't come to that. I don't think it will. But I--don't want to live that way. I don't want to turn into a monster and hurt my friends.]"

"[I won't let that happen.]"

He closes his eyes briefly. "[…good. That's what I needed to know.]"

"[If it does happen, we're gonna try a way to fix it. If it can't be fixed...]" He sighs and rubs his temples. "Frying pan?"

Jack ducks down, pulling a rather miserable-looking scratched frying pan out of a lower cabinet. "[I've never heard of a way to fix it.]"

"[Never heard of our situation either.]" He takes the pan and heats it up, grabbing a ladle for the batter.

"[True. It stinks of spirits more than spells, I think--but that's just a guess.]"

"[You get that lyrium sorted and we'll see what it really is.]"

"[Right. Maybe everyone could chip in a bit? It's not cheap, even for just a little bit. My connect says it's good quality.]"

"[Can do.]"

Jack smiles, relieved. "[Thanks.]"

"[Text Mahanon about this, would you? Make sure he's not trying to do any weird shit. He's still a mage.]"

"[Right. I'm on it.]"

"[Try to talk about it with Jowan too?]"

"[I will. He's not gonna try anything weird, though.]"

"[Just make him aware.]"

Jack nods. He pauses before he leaves the room, signs "[You're a good guy, you know,]" then disappears around the corner.

While those two were off chatting in the kitchen, Cyrnarel and Jowan were having a quiet talk. 

"What was this?" they ask softly, kneading their arm where the scar is.

"I cut myself by accident yesterday morning. Bull… startled me."

"You'd've heard him from a mile away,” Cyrnarel says doubtfully. “His balance was off."

"Not that kind of startle. I thought Jack was… well, I thought he was possessed."

"And you were holding a knife by your arm?"

"I grabbed it to defend myself."

"With blood magic?"

"What? No!" His eyes go round with panic. "Shh!"

"I  _ am _ being quiet."

"Please don't tell anyone." His eyes actually fill with tears.

"Shit, Jowan, calm down! I don't care."

Jowan sniffs a little. "Jack doesn't know."

"...oh. You never plan on telling him?"

"I don't know. I should, I know, but it's just so _ bad _ ."

"It's just magic."

"Yeah. Forbidden magic."

"Forbidden by people who aren't even mages."

"Still."

"You still just don't want Jack to know."

He nods. "I can't stand the thought of him being… I don't know… disappointed in me. And it's more complicated than just that stuff."

"How?"

"Well…" He licks his lips. He's noticed the scars on Cyrnarel's body, but that doesn't mean it's not a touchy subject. "I, ah, started cutting in my teens. Just regular cutting, no magic involved. So, with that and the blood magic, it's kind of a mess."

"Does Jack know?"

"Yeah, he knows about that."

"Why's it a mess, then? He'd doubt you?"

"I guess it's kind of hard to separate the magic kind from the other kind, so the one can trigger the other, in a way."

"But you haven't done it as much as I have."

"No."

"Sorry about that, by the way. It can't be pleasant to wake up in that body without warning." Cyrnarel looks away.

"It's okay. I mean--I won't pretend it's easy to get used to, but… it's okay."

"I don't intend to hurt Jack."

"I know."

"Well, you know--people think we're dangerous, yeah? And it's obvious I'm not the most... stable person. But I'm not going to hurt him."

Jowan nods. "I worried, at first. Only because of how things went at the beginning. But I'm not worried anymore."

They frown. "How things went?"

"Well, yeah, apparently there were arguments and whatnot. He didn't go into details, but he did tell me."

"Oh. That, right. I was... well, scared, I guess. It's sorted now."

"Yeah." He smiles a little. "Don't worry about it. You put my fears to rest yesterday."

"I did?"

"Yeah. You were looking out for him."

"Oh. I had to."

"I did offer to take over a couple of times."

"..Still."

"You didn't really just do it because you had to, did you? It didn't look that way. I can usually tell. He can usually tell."

Cyrnarel scowls at him. "If you need any help with your type of magic, I've got friends who can help you. If you're gonna use it, might as well be good at it, yeah?"

He looks down, swallows. "I'll keep it in mind."

Cyrnarel nods. "Friends I've known for years. More reliable than your suppliers, sounds like."

"They aren't my suppliers. They're friends of Jack's friends--he runs with some kind of radical crowds."

"So long as he knows what he's doing."

"As far as I know. I don't ask that many questions about it. If you didn't notice, he's kind of stubborn."

Cyrnarel smiles softly. "I like that about him."

"You like it now..." He grins. "I'm just kidding. He's sweet."

"This is still really fuckin' weird. Like talking to myself, but worse."

"It's pretty creepy. I'm trying not to think about it too much."

Cyrnarel's smile fades. "But it's temporary. It better be. It's--weird. My vallaslin..."

"It's really important to you, right?"

"Yeah, really important. I don't just feel weird without it, but... Like I've lost something." They touch their face (or, rather, the face of the body they're currently inhabiting), running their fingers down their cheek.

"Yeah." Jowan looks away, feeling odd about that touch. "Hopefully it sorts itself out soon. Ideally without any of that lyrium."

"Ideally." They look up as Jack comes back. "Hi."

"Hi. You guys doing okay?"

"Yeah. Sorta."

"We're just… getting to know ourselves,” Jowan says. “Or, each other in the form of ourselves." 

"Sounds silly." He sits down cross-legged on the floor so the three of them are a sort of triangle.

"It'll get fixed," Cyrnarel says as if convincing themself.

"Bull wants to make sure nobody tries anything weird--magic or otherwise. That goes for both of you," Jack tells them.

"What sort of weird shit would I try?" Cyrnarel asks.

"No idea. You've got Jowan's magic for now, though."

"No plans to use it."

"Good."

"What about you?" Cyrnarel asks him.

"You already know the weird magic shit I'm planning."

They sigh. "Maybe there's options we're not seeing."

"Maybe. I'm willing to wait and see."

"Good." They sigh again, more aggravated. "I think I need space."

"You can use my room," Jack offers.

"Thanks. Which...?"

"On the right hand side."

"Thanks." They walk over there and close the door.

It's a smallish room, dim--he's got blackout curtains on the window, and one or two small lamps that don't get very bright. It's tidy with the exception of a few clothes strewn on the floor, and the back wall contains a dresser (the drawers are labeled with clipart depicting what clothes they contain), an exercise ball, and an acoustic guitar. The bed is slightly rumpled despite that Jack didn't sleep in it the previous night. 

Jowan and Jack wait for Bull to reappear, talking quietly.

"Food's done," Bull calls out, setting the stack of pancakes on a plate on the table. "Jowan can't have any."

"Cyrnarel is in my room," Jack says, entering the kitchen. "Maybe bring it to them? They seem overwhelmed."

Bull shovels a few onto another plate. "We'll see. Help yourself."

"Thanks." 

"I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into," Jowan remarks, amused. "You've fed him twice in one day now."

"He appreciates my cooking."

"He's like a stray cat--always coming back for more. He's a bottomless pit." 

"That is just… so rude," Jack says aloud, adds on his iPad, "I'm just a very very deep pit."

"We'll let Cyrnarel be the judge of whether or not he has a bottom," Bull says, sliding into Jack's room and shutting the door.

He leaves them gaping. As the door shuts Bull will be able to hear Jowan saying "Ohhh! He got you good," as Jack covers his heated cheeks with his hands.

* * *

Alistair jams his phone back into his pocket and sighs heavily. "I've got bad news, fellows."

Mahanon's busy trying to shove far too much product in his hair after showering, with some halfhearted help from Dorian. "Huh?" Mahanon asks, looking away from the bedroom mirror.

"You're not the only one who had that dream, Dorian."

"What are they saying?"

"That it's most likely a Blight. Rumor is the Warden-Commander at Weisshaupt is calling for a press conference within the next twenty-four hours."

"That sounds very not good," Mahanon says. 

"Which means you might be called in," Dorian says softly.

"Almost certainly. Our situation just got a deal more urgent."

"I can get some lyrium," Mahanon says. "Perhaps seek a spirit's help, maybe find out what's doing all this..."

"I have been very strictly told that there is a plan in place and that we are not to 'try anything weird'."

"A plan. What plan?"

"If we don't hear back from any contacts, we’re evidently sending Jack into the Fade to do… well, pretty much what you said.”

"He's a Circle mage," Mahanon says exasperatedly. "He's got no experience!"

"Yeah, but he's in his own body, with his own magic." Alistair raises his hands. "Look, I'm just the messenger. Take it up with him and Bull."

"Where's he even getting his lyrium?"

"Apparently he knows some people."

"That's reassuring," Mahanon says dryly.

"I'm going off a text message here."

"I hope he has some idea what he's doing," Dorian says.

"You'll have to ask him!"

"Presumably he's busy."

"Well, I don't know the answer." His phone rings, and he picks it up. " _ What?  _ Oh. Teagan. No, I'm fine, I just--have a bit of a cold? I'm not going to ask how you know that. No. Absolutely not. It's out of the question. I'm  _ stationed _ in  _ Skyhold _ , and I'm not--no. You know what?" Alistair looks stormy, as angry as the other two have ever seen him. "I can't do this with you right now. Goodbye." 

He stabs aggressively at the phone screen and heaves a breath. "I wish cell phones had cradles so I could hang up more dramatically."

"You can throw it at the wall," Dorian suggests. "But you'll have to pay for damages."

"I'll just… put it in my pocket extra angrily."

"What was that about?" Mahanon asks. "Someone else already knows about the Blight?"

"It was Bann Teagan Guerrin. And yeah, they've heard as far as Redcliffe, I guess."

"The Bann talked to you directly?"

"Yes, he did."

"And you don't like him?" Dorian asks.

"Oh, no, I love Teagan! It's just… the topic."

"Ah."

"And I'm tired of Eamon sending him to do his dirty work just because he knows I like him!"

"They want you back in Redcliffe?"

"Yeah. They weren't too happy about me joining the Wardens in the first place."

"They're not your parents, are they?" Mahanon asks.

"No, but they raised me. Well, Eamon did. Well, really the servants did, but Eamon was in charge."

"Isn't that how it always goes," Dorian sighs.

"Teagan was sort of like the fun uncle."

"And now he's working with the bad uncle to pull your strings."

"Something like that. And it's really--" He frowns. "Well, I can't really explain it, but it's like they're hoping something bad will happen."

"Sounds like a mess," Mahanon says, yawning. "This facial hair is really messing with me."

"I told you!"

"Yeah, but you're not an elf!"

"Still. Speaking of which, you--" he points at Dorian, "--need to shave today. You're looking scruffy."

Dorian looks offended, "I'm being lectured on my grooming?"

"Yes, you are. I don't have a flowing mustache, so you're going to have to shave my whole face."

"Sacrilege."

"I'm sorry, but you are not growing a mustache on my face!"

"It would do you a world of good."

"I think it would look awkward."

"Go shave," Mahanon says, nudging Dorian. "You do look scruffy." 

"Says the man with a clump of hair gel on the back of his head." 

"It's not my fault your hair's so high maintenance!"

"I've never felt so vindicated," Alistair sighs.

Dorian sighs dramatically and heads for the bathroom, Mahanon cleaning up the last bits of his own hair so they look halfway decent and trying to prop the mustache up with gel. "It'll do," he murmurs, getting up and heading for the kitchen. "You drink coffee?"

"I do."

"I'll put some on. Ask the others if they want us to meet them today."

"Will do, thanks!"

* * *

Jack receives a text around noon from Zevran asking "where r u???" 

Bull's already cleaned up after all the pancakes and Cyrnarel's rejoined them on the couch, fiddling about with their phone.

"@ my plc. need 2 tlk soon." He answers, then asks Bull, "Are we going to meet at your place again today? We should pick up on the way."

"shit k" comes the response from Zevran. 

"Wherever you want to be for this,” Bull says. “Wherever you'd be comfortable."

"Your place. I don't want the whole world and everybody here," He says, then switches to his phone to text Zevran back. "Meet @bulls"

"k" Zevran texts, followed a minute later by a selfie on the step in front of Bull's front door, complete with tongue sticking out. Jack cracks a small smile at that. 

Jowan, on the other hand is beginning to look glum again. "Are you sure you don't want to stay here? I know going into the Fade is… hard." 

"That's exactly why I don't want to be here," Jack replies, not wanting to associate his safe place with whatever nonsense is in store for later.

"You know what to do? Got everything prepared?" Cyrnarel asks.

"It doesn't really take much. I just have to be lying down."

"That almost makes it sound easy."

He half-smiles. "It's more that all the action happens elsewhere." 

"Which isn't to say it's not hard on the body," Jowan cuts in, still apprehensive. "He slept for a day and a night after his Harrowing, and he looked pretty corpsey."

"But there shouldn't be a demon this time, yeah? Hopefully."

"Hopefully," Jowan repeats.

"You'll be fine, Jack, yeah? Let's get this lyrium."

"I'll be fine." He smiles at them.

* * *

Alistair, Mahanon, and Dorian receive their summons not long after, and within a couple of hours the whole group has trickled into Bull and Cyrnarel's place. Mahanon and Dorian are quite busy asking Jack exactly what he intends to do and how he intends to do it, trying to make this as low-risk as possible.

Jack explains as best he can, making sure to note that he is a Harrowed mage and it won't be his first time in the Fade, and noting that for Mahanon to go into the Fade wielding unfamiliar magic would be even more dangerous. He glances sidelong at Zevran, wishing he'd had a chance to speak to him privately first before this conversation got started.

Zevran hides his worry behind his regular nonchalant demeanor, trying to cheer up Cyrnarel with jokes (which Bull laughs at a little too forcefully). The whole atmosphere is tense--everyone's worried.

Trying to look lighthearted, Jack says, "I don't suppose anyone's heard back from anyone with a solution?"

"Nothing," Dorian says, running a hand through his hair. "I've got someone who can look into it, but we might not have that sort of time, especially if this sort of thing could kill us."

"I don't know if it can or not, but if what Alistair says is true, about there being a Blight, we've got to get it sorted sooner rather than later."

"The sooner the better, in that case."

"Yeah. So, um. I guess I'll do it on the floor?"

"Blankets, pillows?" Bull offers.

"Pillows, in case I thrash around. And--the other thing. Don't forget that."

"Course. I'll grab them now."

"Thanks. Hey, maybe the rest of you could… go out to dinner, or play cards in the kitchen, or… not stand around staring at me."

Jowan tries and fails to fold his arms again. "I'm not going anywhere."

"We'll sit near but not stare, yeah?" Cyrnarel says, resting a hand on Jowan's shoulder.

"Okay," he concedes, still feeling self conscious.

Bull shuffles around in the bedroom a minute longer and comes out with a few pillows and a couple decks of cards. 

"Now, be careful," Alistair says. "I've barely met you, so you'd better not let anything happen." He too is trying to sound lighthearted, teasing, but he looks a little ill.

"He's Jack--he'll be fine," Cyrnarel says.

"Damn right." Jack grins.

Cyrnarel grins back. "And Jowan can eat cheese again."

"Praise be." Jowan manages a smile, grateful for their support.

Bull sets down the pillows, pistol out of sight, and Zevran places the pouch with the dagger on the ground nearby. "In case you need it," he says, flashing a nervous smile.

"Yeah." He lays down, fishing in his pocket for the waxed paper packet. "See you soon."

"Good luck, Jack," Cyrnarel says. "Make sure you come back alright."

"I will. Here goes nothing." He closes his eyes and opens his mouth, shaking three tiny but flawless lyrium crystals on his tongue. He barely manages to swallow before going limp. His body twitches once or twice, and then he stills but for the movement of his eyes behind closed lids.

And so the waiting begins. 

Cyrnarel sits anxiously beside Jowan on the couch while the other five play cards at the living room’s coffee table, Bull not wanting them to be far enough away to not hear what's going on.

It's an agonisingly long afternoon; the sun is going down by the time anything changes, and it's not Jack--it's the dagger. The chrysoberyl in its haft bleaches to a dirty clear like quartz and splinters. Jack's whole body shudders, and a moment later he half opens his eyes.

Mahanon--back in his own body--falls into a coughing fit and Dorian--also back--groans loudly, leaning forward nauseously and dropping his cards. Jowan's head drops forwards onto the table in a wave of dizziness and Alistair falls out of his chair, limbs flailing. Cyrnarel stops breathing and passes out with a gurgling sound, a much more alarming reaction.  

"Cyrnarel?" Jowan asks weakly, having noticed their disappearance.

Bull's got them in his arms in a flash, laying them gently on the floor. "They're not breathing," he growls.

"Shit. I'll call an ambulance." He fumbles in his pocket with shaking hands. 

Jack's eyes drift back and forth, but don't settle on anyone in the room, as if he's seeing something else.

"Don't." Bull starts pumping their chest, fearful of breaking their ribs but needing them to breathe again. 

Mahanon recovers quickly, a few extra coughs going on and tears in his eyes. "You--you're a mage," he says to Jowan. "Any healing experience?"

"No," Jowan  says, voice rising with anxiety. "As a mage I'm pretty much useless. Are you  _ sure _ I shouldn't call?"

"There's four mages and a packet of lyrium here," Dorian says. "They're not going to help a Dalish." 

"Jack, what about Jack?" Mahanon says, looking at Jack oddly.

"Healing? No, he's never had the knack," Jowan says, still too dizzy to quite know what's going on. 

Jack's eyes do fix briefly on Mahanon and his throat works as if he's trying to talk, though no sound comes out; his hands clench and unclench at his sides and a thin stream of blood flows from one nostril.

"No, I meant Jack's--" He sighs and hops over to him. "He's bleeding. Jack, are you here?" 

Cyrnarel gasps loudly, coughing up blood and wheezing. Their eyes are glassy and breaths are weak. 

"Dorian," Bull growls. 

"Never been able to heal," Dorian says, lightheaded. "I'll--I'll try, but I don't know..."

Jack makes a strangled sound, and his eyes roll back in his head as he goes limp again. 

"Oh, Maker, this isn't happening," Jowan whimpers.

"He's stuck in the Fade." Mahanon dips his hands into his pockets, cursing as all he's got is Alistair's wallet. "Pocketknife," he demands. "Something."

"Right." Alistair seems more disoriented than anything else. It doesn't occur to him to question why Mahanon needs a knife. He doesn't have one in his pocket but a hastily opened kitchen drawer yields a paring knife, which he hands over. 

Jowan is staving off panic as best he can, though his breath is coming faster. "Hey--" he says, reminded by the knife. "You can use blood magic to get in someone's body, right? Maybe I  _ can _ help."

Mahanon takes the knife. "Help Dorian help Cyrnarel," he says.

"Okay." He goes scrambling for a knife of his own.

Mahanon slices his arm and gets to work casting while Dorian uses his magic to feel out what's wrong with Cyrnarel, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. "I can't keep focused," Dorian says through gritted teeth.

"I can raise power, I can, um, boost your range, maybe," Jowan says.

"Then do it," Bull says.

"Right." He slashes his own arm, shuddering.

"Two blood mages. Fantastic," Zevran says, shutting up at a glance from Bull. Jowan latches his power into Dorian's, feeding more blood into the spell when his own meager store of power begins to run low.

Dorian finally gets it and starts to undo the knot of magic inside of Cyrnarel, and Mahanon pulls Jack out from the Fade with a single concentrated effort and a good deal of his own blood.

Jack wakes with a shuddering gasp and immediately rolls onto his side, shaking violently as everything seems to cramp up at once, blood flowing freely from his nose. Zevran's there with paper towels, holding them out and making sure not to startle Jack with touch. 

Mahanon looks back at the others, Dorian and Jowan still busy with their task. "Jack? Can you hear me now?" he asks quietly.

Jack coughs weakly and nods. "Here. It's me."

"Good, good. Alistair, um, go get some warm cloths. Bathroom's that way. For Cyrnarel, too, when they wake."

"Right." Alistair dashes off, evidently able to keep a cool head in a crisis. 

Jack falls silent, still shaking, but after a moment he manages to take the towels from Zevran and press them to his face. Jowan is leaning against Dorian's side, pale and breathing shallowly.

Zevran's collected some bandages, helping fix up Mahanon's arm. Dorian looks like he's almost got it, and he leans forward, holds his breath... and he's got it. Slowly he releases his magic from Cyrnarel, their breaths evening out once more.

Jowan feels it. "Did you get it?"

"Yes, I... ugh..." He holds a hand to his forehead. "I might faint." 

Bull feels for Cyrnarel's breathing and heartbeat, then lifts them and brings them to the bedroom. "Call me if you need anything." 

"Alistair, food," Mahanon says. "And water. For Jowan, too."

"Me too," Jowan says in response to Dorian, ears ringing.

"Got it!" Alistair's not much of a cook, but one thing he can do is whip up a skillet full of eggs. Water seems more urgent, so he pours several glasses--water and juice both--and delivers them before returning to the kitchen to get some food started.

Mahanon downs a glass of juice as Zevran finishes bandaging his arm, and Zevran goes to Jowan to help him, too, making certain he blocks Jack's line of sight.

"Thanks," Jowan whispers. Zevran nods, gently cleaning the wound. Jowan begins to cry weakly from stress, not taking his weight off of Dorian.

Jack carefully sits up, hand to his head. "Hey, hey, hey," Mahanon says softly. "Don't push yourself. That was hard on you." 

Jack fumbles for his iPad. "It worked? Where's Bull? He's supposed to be here."

"He's fine, he's okay. He took Cyrnarel to bed."

"Are they okay? Jowan?"

"They're... fine, they're all fine."

"Okay. I feel like I got beat to hell."

"You look it. You feeling alright?"

"Not really. I think I'll be okay though."

"Good, good. Do you want to lie down again? Need a drink? Alistair's making eggs."

"Thirsty."

Mahanon grabs a cup of water and hands it to Jack. "Here."

He has to hold it with both hands to steady it, but he drinks it all before putting it carelessly aside and sinking back down, eyes fluttering shut, completely exhausted.

"Couch?" Mahanon offers.

"Nn. To tired," he mumbles.

"Pillow," he says, pulling one over. "Can I help you lie down?"

"Okay. Yeah."

Mahanon helps him lie down, positioning the pillow under his head. "Blanket?"

"Okay. Blanket." He's already half asleep.

Mahanon retrieves a blanket from another room--one of the soft ones--and drapes it over him, sighing with relief. Jack falls immediately into a heavy sleep, completely oblivious to his surroundings--which is a relief to Jowan.

Mahanon, Zevran, and Dorian take off after eating, leaving Jowan and Alistair alone with Jack (with Alistair receiving a "come visit anytime" from Mahanon and "take care of yourself, we have a relationship to start someday" from Zevran). Bull stays with Cyrnarel the entire time, staying up all night to make sure they're okay. Jowan keeps watch over Jack, falling asleep at his side. Jack doesn't stir, even well past dawn.

Bull finally emerges in the middle of the morning, glancing down at those two. "Everything alright?"

Jowan's awake. He still looks pale and exhausted, but he's alert and clear-eyed. "Good enough. How's Cyrnarel?"

"Awake. Jack?"

"Asleep. Probably will be for a while."

"Think he's alright?"

"He will be." He shakes his head a little. "We almost lost him, though."

"Really glad we didn't. He's a good guy. You're a good mage."

"I'm a terrible mage. But thanks."

"You helped save Cyrnarel's life."

"I'm just glad I could do something." He rubs his arm lightly. "I got into blood magic because--well, because they treat us like monsters for being mages, but at the same time, magic is the only worthwhile thing about us. And I don't have any natural talent to speak of. And next to Jack… well, it's not his fault, but it was hard."

"And it's helped us out. Could've saved your life, too, if I wasn't me when I showed up yesterday."

Jowan takes a deep breath. "I should tell him. It feels wrong to keep it from him, especially now that everyone else knows."

"Take your time. Oh, and talk to him about this grim, fatal thing he's got going on. He's too serious."

"Just give him time to open up. He's really very sweet."

"No, I'm serious, he's too serious. And grim."

"One time we stole two enchanters' robes from the Circle laundry, sewed them together, and I sat on his shoulders and we walked around pretending to be a giant enchanter."

"One time this morning he asked me to shoot him."

Jowan’s eyes widen. "…what?" he whispers.

"Talk to him."

"But why would he--?"

"Possession."

"Oh, Jack." He looks down at his brother, pain in his eyes.

"Yeah. Talk to him. Help yourself to food, by the way."

"Thanks." He winces. "I think you're out of eggs. Alistair made so many eggs."

"It's fine." Bull heads for the kitchen, putting on a kettle and some coffee.

For what it's worth, Alistair also did the dishes, and if anything left the kitchen cleaner than it was before, if still a little eggy-smelling. 

Jowan shuffles in a few minutes later, summoned by the smell of coffee. "Sorry about taking up all that space in your living room. Jack might not wake until tomorrow, you know."

"As long as he's alright."

"I might wake him up in a few hours to drink some water, but… he'll be okay."

Bull nods, pulling out a packet of oatmeal. "You heard from Alistair?"

"Not yet. My guess is, everyone's exhausted and sleeping in. I might go back to sleep myself."

"I'll stay up for a while longer if you need anything."

"Thanks." 

After a moment, there are some noises from the living room, and Jack appears, shuffling with his hand against the wall to steady himself. His hair is rumpled and the circles around his eyes are so dark they look like bruises. 

"Morning," he slurs.

"Morning. Hungry?" Bull asks.

"Hungry," he repeats as Jowan jumps up to help him ease down into a chair.

"Oatmeal?" he asks, grabbing three more packets.

"Uh huh." He gazes dazedly at the table.

"Right." Bull rips open the packets and pours them into bowls. "You feeling alright?"

He flips his iPad open. "No. I feel like shit."

"At least you're feeling. Coffee, juice, or water?"

"Coffee," he echoes emphatically. 

"Water too," Jowan says. "You look dehydrated."

Bull grabs water for both of the mages, setting it on the table as the kettle beeps. "Cyrnarel’s doing fine, Jack. They're awake but tired."

He nods, unaware of the depth of what happened. "What about everyone else? I don't remember much."

"They're fine. Not sure where Alistair is now, but everyone got out alright."

He sighs, shoulders slumping as if he's finally stopped carrying a great deal of weight. "Thank goodness."

"What the hell was it?" Bull asks, pouring hot water in the oatmeal bowls. "Spirit? Demon?" He says the second with a subtle sneer.

"...sort of both."

"Both?"

"It was a spirit once, bound to that dagger, probably for centuries. Over time, it warped."

Bull places the larger bowl of oatmeal and a spoon in front of Jack. "And now it's, what, dead?"

"Yeah. It's dead."

"You killed it?"

"...Yeah." He says it aloud, very softly.

Bull raises an eyebrow, then shrugs, setting a spoon in Cyrnarel's oatmeal and pouring himself some coffee. "You get some rest this week."

Jack looks down at his oatmeal, the bowl wavering in his sight as his eyes fill. "It wasn't like killing the rage demon."

Bull looks up at Jowan. "Look, I don't know spirits, but I'm gonna go keep an eye on Cyrn."

Jowan swallows; he doesn't know much about it either, but he puts a hand on Jack's arm. Jack just shrugs him off. "Yeah, okay," he says dully.

Bull disappears for a few hours, leaving those two alone.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you missed the earlier update, please check the previous chapter! It was updated a couple days ago.

By the time Cyrnarel emerges that afternoon, looking miserable and in pain, Jack is asleep, this time on the couch, Jowan sitting with his back against it playing on his phone. They poke at the coffee pot and turn it back on, glancing back at the bedroom.

"Hi," Jowan says cautiously.

They step back into the room. "Hi," they rasp.

"How are you feeling?" Not good is obvious, but it seems right to ask anyway.

"Like shit."

Jowan nods. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Nn. You alright? Bull said you--ugh.” They put their hand to their head. “You okay?"

"I… lost some blood, yeah, but I'm fine."

"Said you should see a doctor. You okay?"

"I don't need a doctor. Zevran wrapped it up."

"That don't do shit. You really alright?"

"I've felt better. It doesn't matter though--I'm a mage with two deep cuts. It doesn't take a genius to connect the dots."

"You got Bull worried."

"Well, I don't know, maybe Jack knows some sketchy vet who can stitch me up or something. If the wrong person figures out I'm a blood mage, I'm as good as tranquil, and blood magic is required reporting for doctors."

They frown. "No, I'm not saying you should see a doctor. Care for yourself."

"Oh.” Jowan swallows. “I will."

"Good. You and Jack."

"Yeah. I've been making sure he drinks water and eats a little, when he's awake."

"He's okay?"

"He's worn out. We almost lost him."

"But he's okay."

"Yeah."

Cyrnarel nods and pours themself a cup of now-warm coffee, sitting cross-legged on the coffee table. "Bull's asleep. Says he doesn't think Jack slept last night. Er, night before last."

"He probably didn't."

"He fell asleep fast once I convinced him I wouldn't faint from walking."

"Bull? Yeah. He's been under a lot of stress."

"Stayed up all night watching me. I wasn't that bad, was I? ...Nevermind." If Jowan had to use blood magic, it was bad.

"I'm glad you're okay," he repeats.

"It'd be rude of me not to be, yeah?" They smile weakly, taking a sip of coffee. 

He smiles back. "Jack really likes you, you know."

"He's nice. Stubborn, too." They give a long sigh. "I have a fucking type, Jowan. And they're stubborn."

"Sorry to say, but yep."

"Does he have a liver of steel, too?"

"He can drink half a bottle of grain liquor without slurring."

Cyrnarel swallows their mouthful of coffee, nearly choking. " _ Mythal _ ."

"He hardly drinks at all, says it's not worth the trouble of drinking so much just to get a little buzz."

"Least he doesn't need to smoke a whole elfroot plant, right?"

"No, thank goodness, he can get high like a normal person."

"On second thought, I’m not sure I want to see him high."

"He giggles."

"And how much does he eat?"

"A  _ lot _ ."

"That's terrifying."

"He's fun, though."

"Yeah?" They lean forward and put their coffee down.

"He unbends a little. It's nice."

"He's nice normally."

"He's always nice," Jowan agrees.

"I like seeing him restful like this.” Cyrnarel looks at him, gaze and voice softening. “Even if it is from all that shit."

"You like seeing him sleep?" Jowan smiles a little.

"Now that just sounds weird."

"I think it's sweet."

"I'd rather see him--" They trail off and drink more coffee, looking away and reminding themself to filter.

Jowan politely pretends he didn't hear. "Oh, and he sings."

"Really?"

"Yep. It has to do with being able to repeat things, or something."

"Oh, right. Yeah, I know what you're talking about."

"He likes you, you know. He… trusts you."

"You really think? Even after I wasn't all that friendly?"

"You've seen him in a pretty bad way, and you treated him well, you didn't act like he was scary or disgusting or anything. That goes a long way," Jowan says.

"But he isn't--oh. People treat him that way."

"Yeah. And it doesn't even occur to you to."

"No. I know what that's like."

"So...that goes a long way. He's always worried about being a burden on his soulmates, because of not talking, and needing extra help with things, and having those meltdowns sometimes."

"He's not a burden, not at all," Cyrnarel says. “He’s just a person.”

"I told him any soulmate worth their salt would do it with joy. Just as he would for them."

"He deserves that. He deserves you."

"He's family. That's all there is to it. I need him as much as he needs me."

"I'm glad he's got you."

"Yeah. Anyway… He likes you. You're respectful and kind. And it's really nice to see him so excited about the three of you."

"He's excited? Really?"

"Definitely."

Cyrnarel looks over at Jack. "At least he's got something to look forward to. He hasn't got other family or many friends, has he?"

"No. Just me and Maia--a mage who transferred to the Waking Sea Circle to teach."

"He's lonely."

"Yeah. But wary, too, I guess. Guarded."

"And optimistic. He know he looks good?"

"He doesn't think about it much, but he knows he's not ugly or anything."

Cyrnarel nods. "He a heavy sleeper?"

"Not usually. He wakes up a lot, doesn't sleep through the night very often."

"Sleeping problems?"

"Insomnia ever since he was little. Nightmares too."

"Poor guy."

"He got… I don't know, I guess punished a lot for the way he acted and how he did things when he was small."

"By the Circle?"

"Yeah. Or, you know, by enchanters and Templars."

"They're still part of the Circle, yeah?" They sigh. "He's alright here."

"Yeah. He used to like, flap his hands around his head, and they made him quit. I don't know why, it didn't hurt anyone."

"It's cause people are shit when others are different. You wonder what they might've done to Mahanon, if he might've been hurt so he stops chirping."

"Yeah. And he'd start yelling and crying and kicking, and they'd lock him up which made it worse, it was like this vicious cycle."

"He's safe here."

"I hope so."

"Hope?"

"Assholes with power are everywhere. But this seems like a good group. Everyone's respectful."

Cyrnarel nods. "And nobody's gonna care about your magic, either. Not anyone who's friends with Mahanon, at least."

"Is that who you meant, when you said I should talk to someone about it?"

"Yeah. He's got some friends too, but I'm close to him. Uh, um, speaking of which..." They rub the back of their neck. "Um, would Jack mind if... I don't know how to ask."

He blinks. "What is it? I can help you word it, maybe."

Cyrnarel pauses, then decides that blunt is best. "I sleep with Mahanon sometimes."

Jowan’s face heats up. "You and everyone else apparently. No, I don't think he minds."

"...oh. Okay. Good."

"For all I know in a couple of weeks he will be too."

And that makes Cyrnarel blush. "If he likes." They crack a smile. "Surely he'd consider a soulmate first."

"Maybe. But maybe he wants to really get to know you guys first."

"We'll see how that goes, yeah?"

"I guess you've figured out it's worth it by now."

"Never thought it wasn't."

"It only gets better from here."

"Now you've gone and jinxed it."

"Nah. You just have to trust me. I know him better than anyone."

"It'll go alright," they say, then their smile fades. "How's he gonna feel about Alistair?"

"What do you mean?"

"He's a Warden."

"Oh, shit. I don't know. I hope the regular army doesn't get called in. A Blight is a big deal."

Cyrnarel grimaces. "If the normal army's called in, so is he. They'd better not."

Jowan sighs. "Right. This stuff is all too complicated."

"Dangerous, too. Why's he even on call? What about you?"

"It was kind of a compromise. He was supposed to go straight into the army, but he dug his heels in about it last year, said he wanted a chance at a normal life. As for me, I'm not enough of a mage to bother with, which is why no one cares that I work at a call center."

"He didn't have a choice?"

"Not a real one. Magic is made to serve man and all that. He's a battle mage, so this is how he serves."

"That's bullshit."

"Yeah. But what're we going to do about it?"

"I don't know if we  _ can _ do anything about it."

"We can't, it was rhetorical."

"...right." Their shoulders slump. "Jowan, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Did you ever stop?"

Jowan looks down, taking a moment to calm his fluttering nerves. "Once, for almost a month."

"So you still haven't stopped."

"No."

"If you need help, I'm here, yeah?"

"...Yeah. Thanks. Same to you."

"Have you got a therapist in town?"

"No. I'm too scared to see anyone--because of the blood magic."

"They don't have to see anything,” Cyrnarel says. “They just talk."

"But even to bring it up, the cutting, could raise suspicions."

"...right. Because you're a mage."

"Yeah. It sucks. I could… I could really use the help, to be honest."

"Are your meds good, at least?"

"Yeah, they help. I don't have nearly as many panic attacks as I used to. And, uh, I know it's not strictly legal but if you ever need to borrow a rescue pill, just ask."

Cyrnarel chuckles. "I'm not worried about legality. I've got contacts, anyway, but thanks for the offer."

"Yeah. You're welcome."

"And if  _ you _ ever need anything else, I can hook you up."

"I'll definitely keep that in mind," Jowan replies; he doesn't have a dealer in the area yet.

Cyrnarel nods and sips at their coffee, glancing over at Jack. He's frowning slightly in his sleep, a tiny line between his brows, otherwise peaceful. "Does he always wear sweaters?"

"Not when it gets hot out, but he likes them."

"He like scarves, too?"

"In winter."

At that point Jack blinks himself awake and plants a hand on Jowan's head and moves it back and forth, growling in a low voice, "I'm Jowan. Say Jowan things. Blah blah blah."

Cyrnarel blinks at him. "You take too much lyrium or something?"

Jowan removes Jack's hand. "He's just being goofy."

"Oh. Morning, Jack. Or afternoon, rather."

"Morning."

Jowan hands Jack his iPad. "Charged it for you."

"You feeling alright?" Cyrnarel asks Jack.

Jack opens his speech app before replying. "Not really. I feel like I got beat with a sledgehammer and I can't stop falling asleep." 

Jowan smiles tiredly. "Which you should do as much as you can; it'll help you recover. That goes for both of you."

"Don't need to recover," Cyrnarel grumbles into their mug.

"We all had a rough time with the switch," Jowan says, not sure he wants Jack to know exactly what happened just yet.

"It was weird as fuck having your left arm."

"It was weird missing it."

"And your ears."

"I didn't find the ears that weird, actually. I barely noticed them."

Cyrnarel puts down their mug and tucks a few strands of hair behind their ear. "See?"

"The short hair was weirder."

"It's not  _ that  _ short."

"It's too short to tie back."

They sigh. "Fine, alright."

"You're both forgetting the person most affected by you two switching," Jack interjects.

"Bull's asleep," Cyrnarel quips.

"I'm talking about me. My soulmate looking like my brother and vice versa? Way too weird."

"Don't forget your other soulmate looking like Mahanon."

"I haven't known Mahanon since I was five."

"You know him?"

"We've met, that's all. He pulled me out of the Fade, also."

"What?"

"He pulled me back out of the Fade."

"When? Yesterday?" Cyrnarel squints at him.

"Yeah."

"He had to pull you out?" They look very concerned now. "Shit. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I'm here now."

"You're not hurt?"

"My body was lying very safely on some blankets."

They scowl. "In the Beyond. The… Fade."

"Nothing really serious."

"You sure?"

"Probably."

"Probably?"

"I mean I haven't really been injured in the Fade before."

"So you're definitely alright, just... exhausted."

"Yeah, that's the way it looks."

"Good.” Cyrnarel nods. “I'm glad you're good. Um, there's a little more coffee left if you want some. A half cup maybe."

"No thanks."

"Alright. Your back alright after sleeping on that couch?"

He wriggles a little. "Seems fine."

"Good. Um…” Blunt is best, they remind themself. “I sleep with Mahanon sometimes. We’re not a thing, just friends. Do you mind?"

"Not really."

"Oh, good. That's good." They take another gulp of coffee.

"Zevran asked me that. I'm starting to feel left out of sleeping with Mahanon."

"I'm certain you can find someone to sleep with. Anyway, Zevran's dating him."

"Right. Well, I don't mind."

Cyrnarel nods and sips at their coffee. "You might want to go home before you fall asleep again. Better for you to sleep on an actual bed, yeah? If Jowan's feeling good for driving." They frown. "Oh, never mind that. Your car's still at your place."

Jowan and Jack both wince. "Sorry," Jack says. "We didn't mean to crowd."

"Oh, no, you're not crowding,” Cyrnarel assures them. “Couches just don't seem all that cozy. You're welcome to stay as long as you like."

"Too tired to move."

"Yeah, you can stay. There's also room in the bed if you start to ache."

He smiles crookedly. "Snuggle up with Bull?"

"He's big 'n warm. Wouldn't even complain."

"It's pretty nice, actually," Jowan says, then turns red. "I mean--"

Cyrnarel laughs. "At least it wasn't an entirely unpleasant surprise for you."

"He's… comfortable, is all."

"Very comfortable."

"A little like Jack, but more so."

"I'll have to see about that."

"Yes, you'll have to compare and note down your findings," Jowan says dryly.

"It'll take a number of tries for an accurate conclusion."

"Right, of course."

Cyrnarel grins, then hops up off the table. "Either of you two hungry?"

"No, Bull fed us earlier."

"Jowan," they say, gesturing with their coffee cup for him to follow.

He follows them, frowning a little, curiously.

They lead him to the kitchen, almost bouncing, and rummage through a cupboard. "He still eats if he's not hungry, yeah?"

"Sometimes, sure."

"Good." They shut the cupboard and shove a box of waffle cones at him, moving over to the fridge.

"What's this?"

They open the freezer and pull out two tubs of ice cream to place on the counter: One non-dairy vanilla and one chocolate with caramel swirl.

"Ooh. Ice cream."

Cyrnarel nods, pulling out an ice cream scoop and running it under hot water. "Pull out a cone for you and another for Jack. Which d'you think he'd like?"

"Chocolate. I like vanilla. Are you having one?"

"No, not now." They start scooping the ice cream into the cones. "I promised him we'd get ice cream after dinner Wednesday, but I called it off. I--Oh, shit, I didn't take my meds last night, did I? I was knocked right out."

"Uh oh."

"I'll be fine. Might be pissed off or have headaches. Might make some shit decisions. Nothing terrible."

"Okay."

Cyrnarel cleans the ice cream scoop. "Go take those to the other room. He'll be excited."

"Why don't you take him his?"

"Oh, uh, sure." They place the spoon on the counter to dry and put away the ice cream before taking Jack's cone and heading into the living room.

Jack blinks sleepily at them, then half sits up. "What's that?"

"Ice cream cone." They sit on the coffee table and hold it out to them. "You've never had one, right?"

He takes it, eyes lighting up. "You remembered!"

"Yeah. I felt bad about ditching our date."

"It's okay. Thank you."

"Now you've got your first ice cream cone. We can go out to an actual shop some other time."

"Okay." He gives it a lick.

"Jowan's got some too."

"Good. This is good, it's better than what I've had before."

"You probably had the cheapest shit before, yeah?"

"Yeah, big tubs, always vanilla."

"Ugh, those things."

"This is really thick, it's good."

"It's got that caramel, too. What else you never get to try in that Circle?"

"I don't know, I don't really have a list. A lot of stuff."

"You've got chances now." Cyrnarel hums. "Maybe we can sort out a date for next week, once everything's back in order with the cafe."

"Okay." He smiles, though it's unclear if the bliss on his face is from Cyrnarel or the ice cream. "I'd like that."

They lean forward just enough to kiss his cheek before sitting back on the table. Jack giggles a little nervously, and his smile lingers. "Go on, eat your ice cream. I can put on the tv if you like, or set up something on a tablet."

"TV, if you want."

They click it on, turning the volume down. It's the news, showing information about the Blight. Jowan comes back into the room, about halfway through his own ice cream. 

Jack watches the news, but doesn't seem to absorb or react to much of it, taking it in as merely sounds and light. He drifts once or twice, nearly dropping his own ice cream, but Jowan catches his hand before it goes on the carpet, and that wakes him.

"You alright?" Cyrnarel asks.

"Tired," he says aloud, blinking heavily.

"You wanna sleep or finish your ice cream?"

"Sleep." 

"I'll finish for him," Jowan offers, selflessly.

"Good, cause it looks way too tempting for me to just throw away."

Jowan rescues the remainder of the cone with a grin, and Jack puts his head down. "Are you staying?" Jack asks.

"I might go lie in bed," they say, turning off the tv. "I'll stay here til you're asleep. And maybe wake you up if Bull wants to drive you two back home."

"Okay." He smiles, eyes already closing.

Cyrnarel smiles softly at him. "Sleep well."

He doesn't answer, already asleep. 

"Poor thing's played out," Jowan says.

"He got stuck in the Beyond, he ought to be. What about you? I mean..."

"Like I said, I've felt better."

"I figured you'd be sleeping as heavily as him."

"Well, someone's got to keep an eye on him. I wouldn't want him to wake up scared, you know?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"I'll rest… later, I guess," Cyrnarel says.

"Make sure you do."

* * *

A week later they finally get their date. 

The cafe's been reopened for a few days now, and it's the end of Jack's shift this Tuesday, Bull and Zevran tending to the place. Cyrnarel's just arrived, wearing a very nicely fitting greyish-green long-sleeved shirt and skinny jeans. They've got one glove on and have a thin black scarf around their neck.

Jack emerges from the break room, having changed from his work khakis into jeans and an artfully 'destroyed' sweater in cream with navy stars. He waves at them, grinning excitedly and a little shyly as he approaches. "Hi. You look great."

"So do you," they say, grinning and blushing a little. They wave at the other two behind the counter, then turn to leave, fingers of their right hand resting around the straps of their leather purse.

"So where are we going?" He asks once they're outside.

"We can go to a homely place with a fire if you still want, or we can go to this nice pho place I like."

"I've never had pho before."

"You know what it is, yeah?"

"Noodles?"

"Yeah, with soup, herbs, meat, and whatever else you like. You wanna go there?"

"Yes."

"Then let's go." They take his left hand in their right, smiling up at him. "You all recovered from that shit last week?"

"Still tired."

"But nothing bad."

"No. I'm okay."

"Good. It was... rough. Um... Did anyone mention what happened to me?"

"Jowan said the switch made you pretty sick."

"I passed out. Couldn't breathe."

Jack looks at them sharply. "Oh no!"

"Dorian said there was sort of... a knot of magic? He had to untangle it. I don't really understand it."

"Are you feeling better?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Bull's still fussing over me." They chuckle. "No, I'm doing alright."

"Was it my fault?"

"You fixed the situation, yeah? Who knows where we'd be without that. Hey, it's not your fault, yeah?"

"I guess."

"And I've remembered my meds, so I shouldn't do any weird shit."

Jack smiles. "We'll have fun, right?"

"Depends. It's a first date. Could go horribly," they say lightly.

"But it's not like it's the first time we've met."

"Thank the Creators for that."

"And it can't be worse than when I was in Bull's body."

Cyrnarel laughs. "That's one way to word it."

"I feel really bad about what a mess I made of things."

"You didn't make a mess at all, okay? You fixed it."

"I broke the mirror. And ripped a hole in the couch." Jack shakes his head. “I make a mess of things when I'm upset."

"None of that matters. You were distressed. It's alright. We've broken mirrors ourselves a few times."

"This isn't a very fun date conversation, is it? I'm sorry."

"Not quite as bad as that one time I brought up rope."

He laughs. "Which you just did again."

"Well, considering Zevran  _ also _ seems to be your type..."

"What do you mean?"

"You've worked together a month and you still don't--nevermind."

"What?"

"He's... really kinky," they mumble, looking away.

Jack’s eyes widen. "Really?"

"Oh Creators," they say. "I should just... not say anything. Not that--I mean, he's probably alright if--I mean--It's fine if you've got no interest, yeah?"

"Well, I… don't really know. I mean it was always a little kinky at the Circle because it's like… ooh, what if we get caught? But that wasn't really on purpose."

"Did you like that?"

"It gets boring after a while."

"So you like to try new and exciting things."

"Sure, sometimes. Or, you know, sometimes it'd be nice to just… be able to lay down, on a bed."

"With someone?"

"Yeah. And maybe kiss for more than thirty seconds. And, well, it's not like you could try and tie somebody up since we always had to be so quick."

"Do you want to try?" Cyrnarel clears their throat. "I-I mean. I'm not offering. No, that's--I mean. Maybe. Fuck."

"Well… I always thought it might be interesting to be blindfolded."

"You'll get the chance."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"We've got plenty of time after dinner," they say boldly.

"We'll see," Jack says, blushing furiously.

Cyrnarel grins, their own face feeling fairly warm. "Oh! Here it is," they say, stopping in front of a small restaurant along the street. It's not very busy, but it's also a bit early for dinner.

"Great! I'm hungry."

A waiter seats them and hands them a couple of paper menus. Cyrnarel pulls off their scarf and hangs it on their chair, ordering a soda. "They've got a lot of good shit here. I like the one with all the beef in it."

"All the beef?"

"Beef strips, meatballs, tripe..."

"I want that," he says immediately.

"Really? They got shrimp and chicken too."

"I want the one with all the things in it."

"Right, we can get two of those, then. There's veggies, too, on the side."

"It sounds good."

"It is."

"Isn't tripe intestines?" Jack asks.

"Stomach. It's got an interesting texture. Some people think it's weird, but it’s just food."

"I want to try. I had sushi, too, already."

"With Zevran?"

"Yeah, it was really good."

"Want to try a little bit of everything, then?"

"Yes, very much!" He beams.

Cyrnarel’s grin softens. "They kept you really cooped up, huh?"

"Yeah. Pretty cooped up."

"I'm glad you're out of that place."

"Me too."

Their drinks arrive and Cyrnarel orders their soups. "You got any sort of big plans? Any places you've always wanted to visit?"

"...Not really."

"Just kinda going along?"

"Just trying to stay out of the Circle. Not knowing if we'd find jobs, or something else would go wrong… I never thought to plan"

"Finding all your soulmates is a bit better than you were expecting."

"A lot better. I always assumed they would be mages," he says.

"I figured you'd probably be Dalish. Or an elf, at least."

"Me and Bull both aren't elves."

Cyrnarel laughs. "I almost ran out of the coffee shop when I met him."

"He's intimidating at first."

"First qunari I ever met and he was my soulmate. Mahanon would not let go of the comments on size."

"That sounds awkward."

"Anyway, Taemen didn't like him, but we got along alright and Mahanon thought he was nice. Yavven vouched for him, too. Didn't know they'd known each other. Didn't know Yavven was ailve, but that's a different matter."

"Who's Taemen?" He asks innocently.

Cyrnarel’s smile drops entirely. "Nobody. Forget I mentioned him."

"...Okay."

"I might invite my mother 'round to meet you sometime. You be alright for that? She's nice."

"Yeah, I can meet your mother."

"Great! She's gonna love you."

"I hope so."

"No, she really will,” Cyrnarel insists. “You're nice."

"That's good. I want to be nice."

"And sweet."

"Maybe."

"You think you're not?"

"I never really thought about it."

"Well, you are. You're sweet and cute and handsome and nice."

He laughs, flapping a little, then putting his hands in his lap. "You're cute too.”

They blush and look down at their soda. "Oh."

"I like you."

"I like you too. Hey, you ever read about any of those Hightown books?" Cyrnarel asks.

"You mean 'Hard In Hightown'?"

"Yeah, those."

"Some of them."

"I know the author."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, Varric Tethras. He lives in Kirkwall."

"Wow. What's he like?"

"Busy. Very friendly." The waiter brings their food and Cyrnarel thanks them. "He's pretty relaxed."

"Huh." Jack turns his attention to his bowl, stirring it so he can see all the different elements.

"He’s also got some noble buddy over there, but Merrill says the noble's nice. We haven't really met."

"Oh." He nibbles cautiously on a bit of tendon. "Hmm. It's good."

Cyrnarel picks up their chopsticks and plops a bundle of bean sprouts into their soup, stirring them in. "Do you consider yourself a scholar?"

"Not really."

"So it's really all fighting magic, no books 'n shit?"

"Pretty much. I'm not bad with herbalism, but that's such an archaic art now that you can Google or buy almost anything."

"What of medicine?"

"No talent for healing at all. I know how to bandage most kinds of sprains, or splint a limb."

"I mean, like, mixing salves and that shit."

"Yeah, I can do that stuff."

"That's useful." They dig into their noodles hungrily.

"I guess." Jack follows suit, chowing down on the food.

"No, it really is," they say with their mouth full. "Especially when you can't get meds."

"Hmm. I hadn't thought of that."

"It's usually cheaper, too. Bitter, and not normally pills, but still."

"Yeah. It was the only kind of academic thing I was good at. I like plants. And animals."

"You ever met a halla?"

"No."

"You want to?"

"Yes!” Jack says excitedly. “Really?"

"Yeah, my clan's got some halla out in the country."

"And I can really see them?"

"Course, if we go out to visit. They get a little jumpy around shemlen, but they'll calm down."

"That sounds great."

"Yeah. Mamae'd love to meet you, too. Um, she doesn't know about... things. She knows about… uh, my arm. Not about any other problem. And, uh. I feel I should tell you." They lean forward a bit and lower their voice, looking down at their soup. "I have an eating disorder. It would... help if you never comment on my eating habits."

"Oh. Okay, I won't."

They blink at him. "You're not upset?"

"No."

"Oh." They lean back and pick at the beef bits.

"I appreciate you telling me."

"And I have BPD,” they say, the words coming in a rush. “But I'm not a bad person, yeah? I don't hurt people."

"Okay." He smiles reassuringly.

"Still not upset?"

"No."

Their shoulders relax. "And you know I'm trans. I think. Right?"

"You use they pronouns," he says. He'd guessed from that.

"Yeah. And he pronouns. Whichever is fine."

"Okay."

"You really are nice, yeah?"

"I try to be. Besides--I'm disabled myself. And there's plenty of mentally ill people in Circles."

"Least we've got some understanding of each other."

"Yeah."

"You like the noodles?" they ask, adding some jalapeños and more bean sprouts to theirs.

"Yes, it's really good."

"Have you met any of the Chargers yet? Aside from Yavven, that is."

"No, who are they?"

"Friends. They're a network of sorts, you could say. They're all close to Bull. I'll tell you more about them when we're not out in public. Oh, and don't let Sera convince you to join the Friends of Red Jenny. Might not be your thing."

"What's that?"

"Something to talk about elsewhere."

"All right."

They return to their food, letting the conversation fall. Jack eats in silence for a while too, finally pushing back his nearly empty bowl. "That was really good."

Cyrnarel's takes a bit longer to finish, and they drink the broth from the bowl at the end. "It's a good place. Not fancy, but good."

"It doesn't have to be fancy. I don't have much money anyway."

"Yeah, but it's nice to have a fancy date."

"Maybe once in a while."

Cyrnarel nods. "You got a bus pass?"

"No. It's hard for me to ride the bus, and luckily Jowan has a car."

"Oh. Um, I'd invite you back to my place, but it's fine if you'd rather not."

"Is it okay if we go but don't have sex?"

They blink a few times, starting to blush.. "Oh, um, yeah. I don't want to pressure you or anything, and it’s, like, our first date. But I mean, the bus, if you don't want to take the bus. Your place is within walking distance of here, right?"

"I can probably go on the bus, if you tell me where to get off."

"I mean now. I can take the bus with you."

"Okay. I just don't have a bus pass."

"That's fine, it's only a couple bucks to ride."

"Okay."

They call over the waiter to pay, then lead the way out and down to the nearest bus stop. "Bull's still gonna be at work for a couple hours, so we'll have the place to ourselves. We could watch a movie or something if you like. Or play a game."

"Movie."

"You got any you really like? I'm into the more adventurous ones, but we can watch some sappy romance or something." They're not opposed to the idea--it is a date, after all.

"Sure, sappy romance."

"Romance it is," they say. 


	14. Chapter 14

The bus rounds the corner and pulls to a stop before them, letting off a few people. Cyrnarel climbs up first, flashing their pass to the driver. Jack follows and fumbles with his wallet, managing to pay his fare without making anyone too angry, trotting to catch up with Cyrnarel.

The bus is pretty full, with a lot of people having just got off of work. Both have to stand, and Cyrnarel grabs a handhold near the middle of the bus. Jack stands as near to them as he can get, clearly a little anxious about the unfamiliar experience; he stays calm, though, and manages to smile down at Cyrnarel, though his tablet is safely tucked away.

The trip takes around 15 minutes, and Cyrnarel nudges Jack right before the stop to tell him they're getting off. It feels spacious after all that time being cramped. 

"It's not far from here," Cyrnarel says. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." He smiles. "It wasn't so bad. Anyway, I've got to be able to deal with stuff, if I'm ever in a battle."

"Hey, don't talk like that, yeah? That's not gonna happen."

"…Yeah." He half-smiles.

"Come on," they say. "This way."

Jack follows, hesitating a little when they come in sight of the house. "…haven't been back here since that whole… thing."

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

Jack considers for a moment. "…I'm okay."

"Okay, good, that's good." They have their keys today, and they drop their purse on the coffee table in the living room then pull their phone out of their pocket to send a text. "Make yourself at home."

"Okay." He skirts the living room awkwardly, and perches on the arm of the couch.

They send off their text and flick on the tv, clicking the Netflix button. "I'm gonna go change. Pick something if you want."

"Okay." He slips onto the floor in front of the couch and scrolls through the menus.

Cyrnarel returns a few minutes later with the same clothes on, but scarf, shoes, and prosthetic left behind. They hesitate a moment, then sit down beside him on the floor. "Don't like the couch?"

"I dunno. I sure spent a lot of time on it."

They chuckle. "Find anything good?"

"What about this one? I think it's in Antivan."

"Looks a little cheesy, but they all do. Sure."

"Okay." He selects it, having no real interest in actually watching the film either way.

They hesitate for a moment, then scoot closer, leaning against him tentatively. He grins and slips his arm around them, tugging them gently against him. Snuggling--that's very nice. They sigh quietly. They can't slip their arm around him--since it would be their left--but this is cozy and quite comfortable. After a minute they kiss his cheek gently., smiling in the dim light.

"You're so cute," Jack says.

"You too."

"Thanks." He nuzzles at their neck.

"Mm." They tilt their head receptively. "This is nice."

"It is nice. I like you."

"I'd certainly hope so, considering where we are right now."

“I like you more and more."

They lean up and capture his lips, kissing slowly this time, savoring it with eyes half closed. He leans in so their bodies are pressed together, hand straying away from his iPad to grasp gently at their waist. They wrap their arm around his back, staying snugly and comfortably against him.

Jack never takes it as far as removing any clothing, but it's safe to say that very little of the movie actually gets watched.

By the end of the film, Cyrnarel is very clearly feeling the effects of the close contact. They pull back a bit, shifting uncomfortably and keenly aware that Jack has definitely felt their arousal. "You watch movies this way often?" they ask, sitting back against the couch.

"No," he says breathlessly, planting his tablet in his lap.

The tv flickers back to the Netflix movie selection screen. Cyrnarel glances up at the red glare, then looks back at Jack. "Bull won't be back for a while."

"We could watch another movie."

"We could do other things. If you want."

"I'm… not sure. I'm sorry."

"No, no, that's your decision, yeah?" They smile crookedly. "I'm just not sure I could survive another movie."

"Well. That's fair." Jack smiles back, a little sheepishly.

They kiss him again, an action which has quickly become quite familiar. "Jowan's not worrying about you being out late?"

"Nah." He grins. "I can't wait to really know you."

"We can ask each other little questions. Like people do at sleepovers."

"Yes! Let's do that."

"Okay! Um." They think for a moment. "First kiss?"

"Let's see… sixteen, spin the bottle, Lana Glover. A redhead. You?"

"Fifteen, also a redhead. Mahanon. Teen curiosity and all that. You play spin the bottle a lot?"

"When we could get away with it. Seven minutes in heaven, too."

"Make any good friends that way?" Cyrnarel asks.

"A couple. Oh, I tried kissing Jowan once--that didn't really work out."

"Sounds a bit weird."

"It was. We never did it again."

Cyrnarel chuckles. "Your turn to ask a question."

"Okay, um… warm bedroom, or cool with extra blankets?"

"Both, if I can get Mahanon or Dorian to heat the place. They’re both weirdly good at making a place cozy. Otherwise extra blankets. If I need them. Bull's very warm."

"I like blankets because they're heavy."

"They make me feel safe. Protected."

"Me too!"

They smile, scooting closer so they can lean against his side, head against his shoulder. "Favorite animal?"

"Is it too obvious if I say dogs?"

"You've spent far too long in Ferelden."

"Only my whole life."

"Born in Kirkwall," they point out.

"I don't even remember it."

"Suppose that would pretty much make it your whole life."

"What's your favorite animal?" Jack asks.

"Fox. All sorts, like arctic and fennec, but I really like red foxes. Hey, d'you want a drink? There's some in the fridge."

"Okay. " Something cold would be nice, as hot as he feels right now.

They kiss his cheek and head to the fridge, pulling out a couple of drinks and grabbing a bottle opener, all of which they deposit on the coffee table. "Can you open them for me?"

"Sure." He pops the caps off and hands Cyrnarel theirs. "Um… What's the first thing you remember?"

"My first memory?" They take the bottle and drink. "Papae showing me a halla. He was carrying me on his shoulders."

"That's nice."

"Yeah. It was... warm. Smelled of rain, like a summer afternoon or something. Yours?"

"It's not as nice. I was hiding under a bunk in the dorms. I kicked Jowan in the face."

They wince. "Ouch."

"Blood everywhere. We were both really little."

"I can't really imagine you as little. Bull hasn't got any pictures from when he was a kid, but if he did they'd probably weird me out."

"We have some pictures of us."

"You got before and afters of your growth spurt?"

"Yep." He grins. "I used to be puny, believe it or not."

"Nope, don't believe it. You think I'd look weird without my vallaslin? I've still got pictures from when I was young. And some as an adult, even."

"Yeah, that would look really strange. It just looks like part of your face to me."

"It is. I used to be really small, too,” Cyrnarel says. “Didn't really grow until my mid teens, not that that got me far."

"That's when I started growing, too."

"Mahanon grew early. It was really not fair. Never caught up to him."

“Jowan used to be taller than me."

“Poor guy."

"I know." Jack laughs. "I had horrible growing pains, though."

"That sounds rough."

"Yeah. But hey! At least I'm tall."

"It suits you."

"Thanks."

"Is it my turn?" Cyrnarel asks.

"Yes."

"Alright then. First time you got drunk?"

"Thirteen, homemade rice liquor, got sick in a potted plant."

"You had a lot of homemade shit, yeah?"

"Cut my teeth on it. They let you have some bubbly at graduations if you're of age, but otherwise Circles are dry."

"On top of all the other boring shit about them."

He laughs. "No kidding. We made our own fun, though."

"That's good." They smile at him. "I like your laugh."

"You do? I always thought it was kinda goofy."

"It's sweet. Joyful."

"Oh." He blushes.

"Anyway, first time I got drunk was... when I was ten."

"Pretty young."

"There was a bonding ceremony, yeah? So people were partying and drinking and, well, nobody noticed me until I was hammered."

"Were you sick? Did you have a hangover?"

"Yeah. I got a  _ lot _ of lectures that week. My parents weren't happy and even Yavven gave me a talk once he got over laughing at me."

"Oh, wow. That's a lot."

"Yeah. Lectures from four people, eesh." They shake their head. “I didn’t drink for some years after that.”

"We got lectured by Enchanters, mostly."

"They sound awful."

"Some were and some were okay. Even some of the Templars were okay."

"Really?” They scrunch up their nose. “I don't even like Templars."

"I'm not a fan either, but--well, for example, Cullen was always nice to us."

"That guy who moved up to Kirkwall?"

"Yeah--he got caught up in stopping an escape attempt, apparently got pretty worked over with blood magic. He was in the infirmary for weeks, got transferred as soon as he got out."

"Heard he's pretty shit over there, but the whole Kirkwall Circle is."

"Well--I dunno. Maybe he's changed. I couldn't really look at him the same way after my Harrowing, however nice he was." Jack grimaces.

"Is he really nice if he made you face a demon?"

"Well, that's exactly what I'd like to know. I mean--technically Ser Greagoir--Knight-Commander Greagoir--is the one who made me face a demon. Cullen was just holding the gun. But… He was holding the gun."

"To kill you if you couldn't fight off the demon that they set you up against."

"It was actually three demons."

Cyrnarel gasps, eyes wide. " _ Three _ fucking demons?"

"I don't think they knew about the other two."

"Harrowings shouldn't even exist in the first place."

"They used to make  _ all _ mages do them."

"And now it's just the ones who are... off?"

"And the ones with high risk specialties--like me, or spirit healers, stuff like that."

"But you're out now."

"Right. And being Harrowed protects me from tranquility if I ever get in trouble."

"Fuck tranquility."

"Yeah. You know the SFM--that's the Society of Free Mages--is the only radical mage group that actually takes the tranquil out of circles? If they want to go, I mean. They often don't."

"Yeah, I've heard of a couple Dalish they've helped get back home.” Cyrnarel looks down. “Tranquil Dalish."

"That's good. They're researching for a cure, too."

"I hope they find one."

"Yeah." Jack sighs. "I worry about Jowan, him not being Harrowed and all."

Cyrnarel nods. "Yeah, with him and Mahanon being blood mages, any issues wouldn't end well."

It's not as much of a shock as it could be. As Jowan himself had pointed out, it was relatively easy to put two and two together. But they haven't had the talk. "...so that's true, then," Jack says after a moment.

Cyrnarel's eyes widen and they tense up. "Shit, I forgot, you don't know."

"Well, I do now. It's okay. I kind of… suspected."

"You don't have a problem? You're not upset?"

"I'm kind of upset."

"Oh. Um... I really didn't mean to..."

"It's okay."

"Jowan's gonna be upset."

"I won't tell him you told me by accident. I was already working it out on my own."

"Still..."

"We'll talk about it."

Cyrnarel takes a long drink from their bottle. "Your turn to ask."

"Oh, geeze… can you dance?"

They almost choke on their drink, then they laugh, more surprised than amused. "Yeah, I can dance. No fancy shit, but fun and slow dancing and, uh."

"Cool. I like dancing."

"It's fun. Singing?" Cyrnarel asks.

He nods. "I can sing a little. I like to."

"As nice as your laugh, no doubt."

"A little nicer, I hope."

They laugh. "I enjoy your laugh."

"I should sing for you."

"I'm listening," they say, sitting back with a grin.

"Right now?"

"I suppose I  _ could _ wait."

"I'd have my guitar, normally."

"Ooh, then we'd better wait. That'll be good."

"Maybe you could come over to my place sometime?"

"Yeah." They scoot back against him, snuggling up to his side. "The weather's getting cold; we'll be able to sit with blankets and cocoa by the fire before long."

"We just have a space heater."

"Still cozy, yeah? And you can come over anytime, enjoy our fireplace."

"Yeah." He smiles faintly. "That's the crazy thing, is I think I really can. I mean--" he frowns at his tablet, searching for words. "I feel welcome here. And, not just here, but here--" he makes an expansive gesture with his free hand.

"I'm really glad. There's a space for you and I'm glad you like it."

"I've never really felt that way before."

"I hope you never lose the feeling."

"Me too."

They kiss his lips again, softly and slowly. "You want to just... stay here a while? Like this?"

"Yes," he says aloud. "Please."

Cyrnarel nods, snuggling in closer yet again and draping their arm across his waist. "You can set up something if you want background noise."

"I think they have How It's Made on Netflix."

"Yeah, sure. Or another movie."

"Okay." He settles on the show, turning the volume down low. Cyrnarel relaxes against him, sighing contentedly. Jack remains solid and comfortable, relaxed all over, occasionally lightly kissing their cheek or hair. Cyrnarel dozes off, lulled away by the sound of the tv and Jack's comfortable warmth.

* * *

 

It's not until dawn comes that there's any disturbance at the house, and that's when Bull comes in through the front door, making plenty of noise to announce his arrival. It's not enough to wake Cyrnarel, who stays snuggled comfortably against Jack. Jack, who has at most dozed, simply looks up when he enters, giving him a sleepy wave.

"I take it things went well," Bull says, a grin alighting on his face.

"Yeah," he says softly, then turns down the volume on his iPad before adding, "Really well."

"You get any sleep?"

"Nah."

"You've got work in two hours."

"Sounds like time enough to comb my hair."

Bull chuckles. "Less time than Dorian takes, I'll bet."

Jack grins. "It only takes me long because I forget halfway through, or I'm combing it wrong."

"You might wanna stretch first."

"Sure, I will."

"I'll put some coffee on in a minute," he says, heading over to the bedroom. He comes out wearing clean clothes and having shaved, looking a little less worn than he did a bit earlier.

"Did  _ you  _ sleep?"

"I got a few hours in," Bull says. “Don’t worry about me. Cyrn'll do fine if you move, you know. They sleep like a rock."

"...Oh." He reddens.

Bull grins back at him. "At least they didn't fall asleep with their arm on."

"That's good." He carefully extricates himself.

Bull heads to the kitchen to make the two of them some coffee while Jack carefully shakes life back into his limbs, stretching the stiffness out.

Bull returns to the bedroom shortly and retrieves a blanket, laying Cyrnarel down on the ground and draping it over them before taking Jack to the kitchen. "I want to let you know, Jack--I'm not the jealous sort. In case that's a worry of yours."

"I figured if you were, they wouldn't have put us right in the middle of the living room."

Bull smiles, sitting down with his coffee. "I don't think they meant to fall asleep there."

"No, but still."

"Yeah."

"So, um… Did you know? About Jowan?"

"What about him?"

Jack gives him a skeptical look. "You know what I'm talking about."

"I don't like to assume things."

"Blood magic."

Bull grunts. So that’s out, then. "Yeah. He used it last week to help save Cyrn."

"Huh."

"Dorian couldn't manage well after the switch back, so he needed some help, some raw magic."

"Well. I'm glad he did. Seems like I'm the last to know, though."

"Figured you already knew."

Jack’s face falls, and his fingers hesitate before the next sentence. "Don't lie to me if you can help it, please. If you thought I already knew, Cyrnarel wouldn't have panicked when they let slip."

"Cyrnarel must’ve known you didn't know. I didn't.” He shakes his head. “We haven't even talked about it. The blood magic, I mean."

His face settles into hard lines. "Fine. Whatever you say."

"It wouldn't benefit me to lie to you. If I did know you didn’t know… Shit, I don’t know. All that body-swapping junk messed with my head."

"Right." He frowns.

Bull sits back and drinks his coffee, letting the conversation fall.

Jack stirs a few minutes later, still troubled. "You know what the penalty for aiding a Maleficar is? I could get thrown in the Aeonar if he ever got caught, and that's if they don't just kill me outright. I'm not gonna turn him in or throw him over, but you'd think I deserved to know."

"That's something to take up with him," Bull says firmly. "I'd wager he was more worried about you kicking him out or turning him in."

Jack huffs, frustrated. "He should know better by now!"

"How do you tell your best friend you've chosen to become everything the Circle hates?"

He sighs, the stormy look on his face dissipating. Now he merely looks sad. “I don't know."

"Have you talked to him about how you asked me to prepare to shoot you? You've both got a lot to talk about."

"Yeah, he mentioned it. It was completely reasonable though."

"Yeah, uh, you need to work on that grim outlook you've got."

"It's not grim," Jack insists. "It's realistic. Going into the Fade is incredibly risky for any mage, and an abomination can do an incredible amount of damage very quickly."

"Yeah, and we had three other mages there who could've bound you or nullified your magic. Your first option was death."

"There's no way back once you've been possessed. That just would have delayed the inevitable."

"Who taught you that?"

"Nobody did," he says, frowning. "Everyone knows that."

"Because the Circle and Chantry told them?" Bull challenges.

"I mean… I guess. If you look it up online you can see all kinds of horrible pictures."

"And how many of those are from Tevinter or the Dalish?"

"...I don't know."

"Not a lot of them. You ever think why? That maybe you've been set up to fail? Shit, people rag on the Qun for being cruel towards mages, but here you are embracing one of the measures we use."

"I don't understand." A line appears between his brows.

"It's something to look into. Question the things you've taken as truth about mages."

He settles back, frowning more deeply still. "I sort of thought I already was."

"Hey, we all miss things."

"I feel so stupid." He puts his hands around his head.

"Nah, it takes plenty of people half their life to find out shit could be different than they've been taught. Don't worry about it."

"But why would they do that? Set us up for failure? It's not like abominations running around is good for them either..."

"It could be an excuse to kill you and keep you down. You can be a public menace, therefore it's best to keep you isolated."

"But why do they want to kill us and keep us down?"

"So they keep power and retain their legitimacy. They also just don't like you."

"It doesn't make any sense."

"If they can keep their power uncontested, it makes a whole lot of sense. If you're treated as equals, they risk losing power."

"That's awful. They really hate us, don't they? They actually want to hurt us," Jack says.

"Yeah. That shit's across the board, too--they bled us dry with Cyrn's medical bills. Almost had to shut down the cafe. It’s death or debt for a lot of people, with no way out."

"I hate it."

Bull shrugs. "There's more coffee if you need it."

"It makes me wish I was dead."

"Your friends very much like you alive." Bull's voice is a smidge softer.

"I know."

Bull nods. "You need me to drive you by your place?"

"I probably should, so Jowan can help me with my hair and stuff."

"Right. You ready?"

"Yeah, uh huh."

Bull downs the rest of his coffee. "Let's go."

He nods, standing. "Hey Bull?"

"Yeah?"

"What made you change your mind about mages?"

"I started questioning the way things were. First couple times that happened I told myself I was wrong. Eventually I checked myself into reeducation, but later, when I didn't..." He shrugs. "I changed."

"Reeducation?"

"You start questioning the Qun, and next thing you know, you don't think the same as them and you become a threat to society. They reeducate anyone they hear about if their spying verifies the claims. Volunteers aren't exactly common."

"Oh." He frowns a little. "I'm glad you changed your mind about us."

"That's not to say I didn't have any help. The Chargers were really influential there."

"Tell me about them? Cyrnarel mentioned them earlier."

"They're--We’re--a network. We do some legal shit like try to find people lawyers, get kids out of bad situations, all that stuff. When we can't get lawyers, we help in other ways. Nobody profits from it, but we get on alright with the other shit we do."

"Can I be one?"

Bull laughs. "We do illegal shit, Jack. A lot of it."

"So?"

"I mean theft and murder."

More out of stubbornness than conviction, he says "So?" again.

"You ever killed anyone before?"

"I've killed demons."

"And you got misty-eyed over a spirit."

"I did not!"

"Yeah, you did. Look, just think on it, alright? Learn more about what we do and what we've done before you make that decision. You're a mage not long out of the Circle. Harrowed or not, things won't be pretty if you're found beating up some noble."

"But you help mages, right?"

"Yeah, we get apostates and mages in legal trouble out of town. Kids, too, when their families are awful. Come on, let's talk on the way," he says, taking a couple steps toward the door.

He nods, following. "I'll think about it, like you said," he says, wanting very much for Bull to think of him as even-keeled and sensible.

"Maybe I'll find a day we can use your skills, bring you in on an assignment."

"I have contacts in the SFM. I haven't done anything really real with them yet, but I want to--I will."

"They do things legally."

Jack's eyebrows lift slightly and he smiles. "As far as you know."

"They have criminal contacts," Bull says. "They keep their own work clean so they can be transparent."

"That's how I got the lyrium."

That catches Bull for a moment, though it’s not  _ entirely _ a surprise. "Then they're better at hiding it than I thought."

"I think they do some stuff that's decentralized, I guess is the word? The left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing, so if you ask the left hand, they can deny it."

"That's one way to go about it."

"Anyway… yeah. I'll think about it."


	15. Chapter 15

Jack ends up working with a rather miserable-looking and tired Zevran this morning as Bull bakes goods for the cafe. Zevran gives him a halfhearted "morning" when he arrives, slumping on the counter once he's out of the breakroom with apron on.

"What's wrong?" Jack types to him silently, during a quiet moment.

"It is nothing," Zevran says, giving him a weak smile. "Do not be concerned."

"Well, I can't help but be concerned. I'm even more concerned now."

"The world can be rather concerning at times."

"Is that what's losing you sleep?"

He chuckles. "In a way."

"Can I help?"

"I am not certain you can."

"Oh. Well… let me know. Okay?"

"...Yes. Okay."

He smiles and brushes his hand lightly against Zevran's as he goes back to work.

Mahanon is conspicuously absent, coming for his regular cup neither around opening nor on his lunch break. Cyrnarel comes around after noon, hanging out in the backroom when it's busy and in the cafe when it's not, and Bull's out working at the counter a little before then. The continued break in pattern leaves Jack frayed and tense, jumping at shadows and spilling things more often than usual.

"Are you alright?" Zevran asks him when Bull''s taking an order.

"I'm fine. Everyone else is being weird."

Zevran frowns. "You think so?"

"Yeah. You're all upset, and Mahanon's not here, and that's throwing everything else off--it sucks."

Zevran takes a breath and sighs. "Things will be alright, amico."

"Did you have a fight?" he switches to silent text again.

"It is personal."

"Okay. Sorry."

"You are worried. That is nothing to be sorry about."

He smiles a little. "Okay."

"We can discuss things later, yes?"

"Of course. We're on the same shift, right?"

"Yes, Sera will come in at three and help Bull finish the day."

"We can talk then. Or not. I just mean--if you want to."

"We shall see."

"Okay." Jack smiles nervously.

Zevran pats his shoulder and gives him space again.

* * *

He tries not to show his anxiety too much as the shift rolls to a close, though he's still obviously a little tense. By the end of the shift Cyrnarel's been gone a while. Zevran looks relieved to be finished, seeming a bit more comfortable out of his work clothes. Jack trails after him, still struggling his way into a pullover sweater.

"Have you any destination in mind?" Zevran asks once they're out.

"We could go to the lake by my place."

"That is as good a place as any," Zevran says. "After you, my dear friend."

He smiles, holding off on conversation until they reach the lake. He finds a bench and sits, patting the seat beside him for Zevran.

Zevran sits, thighs touching Jack's. He waits for Jack to begin any conversation, not sure how to word things.

"So… something really is wrong. And… Maybe really wrong."

"With who? Certainly not me." Zevran gives a confident smile.

He tilts his head. "Yeah right."

The smile falters. "I suppose it would not do to hide anything from you."

"You can trust me, Zevran." He reaches for his hand.

Zevran lets him take it. "It is not a matter of trust."

"What is it, then? Help me understand."

Zevran thinks for a minute, then he sighs. "I am concerned for Alistair," he says, though it doesn't seem quite what he's focused on today.

"Because of the Blight."

"Yes. He is young--younger than me, I mean, and I am young. A bit too patriotic. Inexperienced."

"...Yeah. I worry about him too. About losing him without even getting to know him. Do you feel that too?"

"I do not fear so much that we will lose him--he is likely to be taking less dangerous posts at first. It will likely hurt, though."

"Hurt?"

"Darkspawn fighting him."

He gives Zevran's hand a little squeeze. "He's well trained. He'll be okay."

"Yes, of course." There is still something else on his mind.

"That's not all?"He guesses.

Zevran takes a deep breath. "Mahanon and I broke up."

"Oh--oh, I'm sorry."

"It may have been inevitable."

"Still, it hurts."

Zevran sighs. "It hurts," he agrees.

"I'm sorry."

"Well, I've got my soulmates here, haven't I? That is at least one comfort. One of you is here, at least," he says quietly.

"I'm here. And Alistair will be back before you know it."

"Let us hope."

Jack leans in to kiss his cheek lightly. "I'm here."

Zevran raises a hand to touch where Jack kissed him. "Thank you," he says, looking a little stunned.

Jack smiles and squeezes his hand again. "It's gonna be fine."

"Thank you," Zevran says again. "I appreciate it."

Jack nods and goes quiet again. He can think of nothing more comforting to say that would still be honest. After a bit, he says, "You can come over tonight if you want."

"I am used to being alone--it is no matter."

"We could order pizza. We don't have to do anything."

"I would not want to impose."

"Don't be silly. Jowan's at some creepy corporate sleepover at the call center."

"That  _ does _ sound a little unpleasant."

"And I hate being alone."

"Pizza and drinks?"

"I'd love that."

"Then off we shall go."

He smiles, feeling oddly victorious, and kisses Zevran's cheek again before standing.

Zevran tries to appear laidback and unconcerned as they head to Jack's place and order pizza, but he's obviously not. He does, however, reciprocate the cheek kisses, giving Jack a couple during conversation. Jack doesn't pressure him to talk much more, just staying close, shoulder to shoulder when possible. Later in the evening, a little tipsy (though not drunk), he asks softly aloud, "May I kiss you?"

Zevran grins at him, a bit tipsier. "You certainly may."

He leans in and kisses him, slow and tender.

It's slower than Zevran was expecting, but enjoyable nonetheless. He responds in kind, kissing slowly, but can't help nipping at Jack's lip.

He smiles. "I wish you could sign," he says, typing again.

"I can always find the time to learn."

"You'd do that? For me?"

"I have gone to greater lengths to impress lovers."

"That would be nice. I could tell you how sweet and lovely you are and you could see just how I meant it, not this… robot voice."

Zevran pauses. That's a little too emotional a little too fast. "The wait will make it worth that much more."

"I can send you some links later, if you want."

"That would be much appreciated." He leans in for another kiss, more aggressive than the earlier one.

"Mm." He kisses back, reaching up to bury his fingers in Zevran's hair, feeling a pleasurable sort of nerves rather than self consciousness.

When they pull apart a few minutes later to breathe, Zevran asks, "Have anything planned for tonight?"

"Nothing. It's just you and me."

"Anything planned for the two of us?"

"Nothing in particular. I thought I'd leave it open ended."

"I have plenty of ideas," Zevran growls, kissing him again.

"Well, why don't you show me?"

He kisses Jack again passionately, leaning forward until Jack is leaning back against the arm of the couch. Jack's breath quickens a little as Zevran continues to advance, and he abandons his tablet to brace himself against the floor for balance, lips parting more unconsciously. Zevran's kisses move down to his jaw, then his ear, then down to his neck, one hand reaching up under Jack's shirt to feel his chest. 

His chest rises under the touch, partly his breath and partly his back beginning to arch. "I want," he says, hoarse and ragged.

"What do you want?" Zevran purrs into his ear. He lets his hand slide down to Jack's waist, stroking the skin. "More?"

"Yes," he gasps.

Zevran abandons him for a moment, sitting up astride him and pulling off his shirt, which gets tossed to the floor. He's well toned, only a thin layer of fat sitting atop his muscles, and he's got tattoos down his sides that match those on his face. "Shirt?" he asks, thumbing at the hem of Jack's.

"Yes!" He's already fumbling with it.

Zevran helps him out of it, flinging it off to the side and returning his attention to Jack's neck as he unbuckles Jack's pants.

He's visibly aroused and shivering, skin flushed and hot. "I want," he says again, weakly, holding zevran against him.

"Are you willing to beg for it? Or--well, if that isn't your thing--"

"Yes," he says so quickly it even surprises him. " _ Please _ ."

Zevran hums, kissing and licking and nipping his way down Jack's chest leisurely, one hand feeling out his thighs through his pants.

Jack fumbles for his iPad, knowing it's a bit awkward to grab a computer during sex. "At the Circle," he says haltingly, easily distracted every couple of seconds, "we never had time for--things like this."

"I can go all night," Zevran says, hand ghosting over Jack's crotch.

"Oh..." He whimpers aloud, then types, "that would be nice. Isn't fair--other people can talk sexy without a stupid machine."

"I do not find it any less effective."

"Really? Doesn't--ruin it?"

"Not at all." He unzips Jack's pants slowly.

Jack smiles, emboldened by the reassurance, and cranes his neck back to suck at Zevran's earlobe.

* * *

Zevran wears Jack out after a few busy hours, exhausted and sweaty himself. They've migrated to Jack's bedroom, and Zevran can't find himself very eager to get off the bed even to wash, which leaves him lying beside Jack, arm around his waist. Jack can't talk; he can barely even type though his tablet is ready at his right hand. He's curled a little around Zevran's warmth, eyes half closed and fingers flicking tiredly.

"Mm," he says, content.

"Nothing to say? That's quite the compliment."

"Hmm." He smiles broadly.

"This was an excellent idea."

"Yes. Shower?"

"Depends. Can you move?"

"Uh huh."

Zevran groans, pushing himself up. "It would be a good idea, then."

"Sticky."

Zevran chuckles. "Indeed."

"You help?"

"Showering together is one of my favorite activities."

"Okay." He rolls upright.

Zevran wisely does not try to have sex with Jack in the shower, fearing the poor guy might faint. He does, however, stand by the bed once they're all dried off, frowning at the sheets.

Jack's needed help once or twice, losing his momentum in the shower. He looks at Zevran, then at the bed. "What?"

"This is usually the point at which I leave," Zevran murmurs.

"Why?"

"Well, it is not like we are--er--very close, yes? But you said that you are lonely."

He reaches for his iPad. "You don't have to stay." He wishes he would though.

"But I do not want to leave you to be lonely."

"I'll be okay. I've slept alone."

"You do not like it?" Zevran asks, reading his expression.

"Well, not really. But I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"It is no discomfort to spend my night wrapped around a handsome man." Some of his recent hurt shows in his voice.

"Are you sure? It's… Okay to take your time."

"It is rather cold outside."

"You're more than welcome to stay. It's up to you."

"It would certainly be better than trying to catch a bus at this time of night without running into trouble on the way."

"We wouldn't want that."

"And we do work at the same place."

"Convenient."

Zevran climbs into the bed. "Also very convenient: We both fit snugly in this bed."

"You're lucky I'm big--if I could fit in a twin, I'd have one and then it would be really snug."

"I am very lucky you're big," Zevran says with a glance downward.

"Oh my god." He covers his eyes with one hand, blushing.

Zevran laughs softly. "You are a gifted man."

"Stop," he says, though he's laughing and clearly doesn't really mean it.

"And you make the sweetest sounds in bed. Simply delicious. I will have to hear them again soon."

"Wow." He laughs, hands coming off his eyes to flutter around his ears.

Zevran leans over to kiss him. "I am not unimpressed by your stamina, either."

"I've been storing it up."

He laughs. "Cyrnarel did not take it all, then?"

"No. I wasn't… ready yet, with them."

"Ah. Well, I hope you save some for them, though with my skill, you may be hard-pressed. My apologies," Zevran says, grinning.

"I'll manage somehow. I'm so capable and all."

Now Zevran's cracking up. "This is terrible. We have made an inside joke of something terribly significant. I love it."

"I like it when you laugh."

"And I like your laugh, too."

"Maker, you're beautiful." He's admiring Zevran's tattoos again.

His cheeks heat up. "...Oh."

"You're blushing."

" _ You're _ blushing." It's a lot less eloquent than Zevran usually is, though he also seems a little uncomfortable.

"That's true."

"And you look ready to fall asleep."

"That's also true."

Zevran snuggles up to him, grin softening.

"Can I at least say you're hot?" Jack asks.

"I would be inclined to agree with you."

"Good."

And Zevran falls asleep there by his side, feeling warm and safe.

* * *

It's not long after that--a week at most--that Alistair texts Zevran, "hey!!! can i talk to you?? :))"

"im off work at 5, call me xoxo <3<3<3"

"xoxo!!"

At five (on the dot) he calls.

"Oh Maker," Zevran sighs, feeling his phone vibrate.

"Don't tell me you've got a call from Mahanon," Sera says. "I'll fight him."

"Not Mahanon," he says. "It is important. Make this cup for me?"

"Right, yeah, leave early and get laid, see what I care."

"My dear Sera, I am scandalized! I had no idea you were so interested."

"Fuck off," she says, laughing as she makes a drink for a slightly put-off customer.

Zevran picks up the second time Alistair calls, sitting in the breakroom and getting an interesting look from Cyrnarel. They've stayed late today. Bull, meanwhile, is in the kitchen making sandwich orders.

"You are terribly impatient," Zevran says as he answers, sitting in a chair.

"No, I'm--I mean, you said call at five."

"I said I get off of five. I could have sent you a naughty text between orders if I had known how impatient you were." Zevran glances over as Cyrnarel chokes back a laugh.

"Please don't! The last thing I need is the Captain catching me sexting."

"Cyrnarel seems amused by the idea."

"Oh my god, I thought you were alone! Please kill me."

"I intend to give you many little deaths, my friend." Cyrnarel can be heard snickering in the background. "I can call you back after I have left work, if you prefer."

"No, it's okay, I just--I've got a weekend coming up, I'll be back in town. I want to see you."

"I can take Saturday off."

"That would be great."

"You know where I live, yes?"

"Yeah." His voice quavers a little with nerves.

"Meet me there. Unless you'd rather meet somewhere for lunch. But if you meet me at, say, 8 in the morning at my apartment we can start the day in a very pleasant manner."

He takes a deep breath. "That's actually what i wanted to talk to you about."

"...A moment, then." He waves Cyrnarel out of the breakroom, and they scowl good-naturedly but comply, slinking out to the cafe. "You want to talk to me about my apartment?" he asks innocently.

"No. About--about sex."

"Do you need diagrams?"

"No, I just--I wanted you to be my first, that's all."

That renders Zevran speechless for more than a few seconds.

Alistair begins babbling nervously to fill the silence. "You know, since--well, it looks like we're likely to be marching south, I'll probably be gone for a while..."

"And you wish to get laid before going," Zevran ventures.

"Well, I wouldn't have put it quite like that."

"You would like to experience the raw, primal excitement of unspeakable things being done to you?"

"...maybe!"

"Or doing unspeakable things to me, if that is your preference. I am rather flexible."

"We can work it out as we go?"

"That is generally how these things go. Ah, if you are... terribly emotionally invested, if you will... I would perhaps speak with Jack instead."

"...huh?"

"If you have an emotional motive, talk to Jack instead."

"Wh--why?"

"Maker's breath," Zevran murmurs, rubbing his temples. "How do I explain? Sex is for fun and I am a very shallow man. Jack is decidedly less shallow and much more attached."

"...Oh."

"Yes."

"I--I'm sorry, I didn't mean to presume." He sounds shattered.

"It is understandable."

"Right. Um--well, I'll talk to you some...other time."

"Yes. Right. We will."

"Okay. Er, bye."

"Bye."

He hangs up, feeling too stunned to realize how hurt he is by the rejection.

And Zevran looks down at his phone with a sigh, feeling like he's fallen into a mess he never saw coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been fully edited since October, whoops.
> 
> Have some feelings.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter added tonight--make sure to read the previous chapter if you haven't yet!

The following week, Cyrnarel gets a call quite early, their phone vibrating repeatedly as long as they don't wake.

They groan as it goes off a second time, reaching for their phone with their left hand. They groan again when they realize they don't even have one, rolling off their right arm so they can grab the phone, canceling the call and dropping the phone beside them on the bed. The sun might be peeking past the curtains, but it's too damn early for telemarketers.

A few moments later it starts to buzz again.

They grimace, picking it up again.

Oh. Jowan.

They ignore the call, set their phone to speaker, wait patiently for a minute, and then accept the next call that comes through, setting the phone beside them so they can lie down while talking.

"Hello? Cyrnarel?" Jowan's voice is high and sharp with nerves.

"Yeah. Something wrong?" Cyrnarel asks. Jowan's tone is concerning.

"Jack locked himself in the bathroom and won't come out."

"What? Why'd he do that?"

"He got a voicemail this morning. He started freaking out after he hung up. I think it might have been the army."

"...no.” Cyrnarel closes their eyes. “There's no war going on, what?"

"There's the Blight though."

"The military's not equipped to handle a Blight. Wardens are."

"I don't know. All I know is Jack's in the bathroom."

"Maybe it's just bad news." Cyrnarel’s too groggy to care very much right now, despite the urgency.

"Yeah, maybe, but who cares? He could give himself a concussion in there!"

"...right. Yeah, he could."

"And, he trusts you, so...."

"So you want me over?"

"If you can. Please," Jowan pleads.

"Okay. Um, anything I should get?"

"I can't think of anything."

"Okay. I'll be there soon."

It takes them a little over an hour to get there. They bring a few homemade cookies with them--if Jack's not eating, maybe they'll whet his appetite--and on the bus they text Jowan to put on some coffee (please). They knock on the door to his apartment anxiously.

Jowan opens the door, managing a smile though he's visibly shaky and pale. "Hi. Thanks for coming."

"He alright?" Cyrnarel asks, stepping in. They don’t sound or look any more awake than they were when Jowan called, hair barely passable and dressed in whatever clean clothes they could find and boots with faint mud stains left on them.

"He's still in there. It's not that I don't understand if he wants to be alone, but if I leave him be he starts getting loud again, and I'm scared he's banging his head in there."

"Right." They stop by the coffee table, setting their purse down atop it among the clutter left there. "I should knock?"

"Probably. There's coffee too."

"I'll get that soon." They knock on the bathroom door. "Jack?"

They get a grunt and a thump, thankfully one that sounds like nothing more dangerous than a small item falling.

"Jack?" they call again. "You come out?"

A long pause, then, "No!" 

"He left his tablet out here," Jowan says worriedly. "Least it can't get broken."

Cyrnarel touches a hand to the wall, watching the light beneath the door, then slides down the wall to sit beside the door. "I'm here, Jack,” they say, tapping the door. “If you need me, I'm right out here."

"Not coming out."

"That's okay. I'm here."

A few minutes pass, Jowan pacing in the hall. 

Then there's a soft thump as Jack leans his body against the other side of the door.

Cyrnarel knocks softly, lifting their head. "Still here."

"Hi." Jack sounds stuffy, tearful.

"Hi. You wanna come out or stay in?"

"Stay."

"You want to talk about what happened?" Cyrnarel asks. 

"Uh huh."

"It wasn't the military, was it?"

"You're mad," he guesses.

"It was the military?"

"You're mad," he groans.

"Not at you,” Cyrnarel says. “At the military. At this fucking Blight." They sigh.

"Sorry. I'm sorry."

"No, no, you're fine, it's not your fault," they say gently. “I’m not mad at you, okay? You’re fine.”

"You come? You come in?" He raps the door lightly.

"Yeah, I can, sure."

Jowan practically hops over with Jack's iPad at that point, pressing it into Cyrnarel's hand eagerly, relief taking away the edge of his anxiety.

They take the iPad and stand up. "Is it locked?"

"Nuh uh." Jack scoots away from the door.

They open the door slowly and enter.

Jack is huddled against the wall near the commode, eyes puffy, a few red, puffy spots on his forehead and cheeks that will probably develop into bruises. “Hi."

"Hi." Cyrnarel closes the door and sits down against it, leaving Jack a bit of space. They hold out his iPad. "You're upset."

He nods, taking it. "It's not fair," he says after a moment, able to speak more freely with the iPad.

"You've been called to fight the Blight?"

He nods. "The king doesn't believe it's a Blight, though--just a horde. Thinks if we can just wipe it out all at once it'll be fine."

They frown. "Alistair said it's a Blight."

"Yeah. Most of the Wardens do."

"So the king's a dolt. Who knew."

"Regardless, there's a horde amassing near Ostagar."

"Can't you hide and not go?"

"No." He shakes his head. "The penalty for desertion is… well, I'm pretty sure it's still death. And the Circle has access to my phylactery."

"Fucking backwards, that is."

"Yeah. It isn't fair."

"So you... have to go."

"Yeah." One hand balls into a fist and strikes his thigh lightly. "I just got here! I have a home and a job. I have friends, I've only just met my soulmates! Why can't they just let me be?"

Cyrnarel sits for a moment, coming up with nothing useful. "It's gonna be fine, yeah?” they offer. “It'll be fine."

"It's not fine! It's not fair to derail my whole life!"

"None of this shit's fair, but it's happening, yeah?"

"Yeah."

They scoot closer, wrapping their left arm around his middle. "When do you leave?"

"Soon." He sniffs. "Next week."

"We'll make it a good one."

A shaky smile. "You're really not mad?"

"I'm pissed as fuck, but I llll--uhhh. Sorry, haven't had coffee, words are weird. I'm not mad at you, but the king? Fuck him."

He nuzzles their neck gratefully. "We can still text. We can text every day."

"We can Skype. You can sign to me."

"Yeah. We can do that."

"Every day. It'll go fine. Maybe you won't even have to fight."

"Mages aren't usually on the front line anyway, since it takes so much time to cast; they've got to protect us."

"See? You'll be fine. You're a good mage, yeah?"

"Yeah. And I'm supposed to get accommodations, but--well. We'll see."

"It's not gonna go terribly. You'll go, you might fight, and you'll come back with everything fine."

"My voice has a battery capacity," Jack says dubiously. "My voice can be confiscated. My voice can be called a distraction even when others are talking."

"It won't be long,” Cyrnarel offers. There’s not much reassurance they can offer there. “Shouldn't be."

"Right. We'll wipe out the horde and I'll be back really soon."

"It'll be like nothing even happened."

"Maybe I'll see Alistair, too."

"Yeah, and you'll both be back before you know it."

"Yeah." He frowns a little. "I don't know how to tell Zevran. Or Bull."

"I can tell Bull, if you want. He'll be alright, I think."

"I'd like to tell him myself."

Cyrnarel nods. "You can come over tonight, if you want. We can have a dinner and everything. Zev can come, too."

"I might ought to tell Zevran alone. I'd like to come for dinner, though."

"I'll sort that out, then. Come by around seven. Jowan can come, too."

"Okay. He'll like that."

They kiss his cheek. "I can organize some time alone, too."

"That would be great." He smiles.

"We'll do that." They lean their head on his shoulder. "Will you be alright if I leave for a couple hours?"

"Yeah. Cyrnarel?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you and Bull could keep an eye on Jowan? At least a little?"

"Oh. Yeah. He's a friend, of course."

He lets out a breath. "Thank you."

"And you Skype or text whenever you need, yeah?"

"Okay. I will."

They kiss him again and then stand, holding out a hand to help him up.

He takes it, getting carefully to his feet. "Thank you for coming."

"It's not a problem. I should come over more often, Jowan even brewed me coffee."

"He's good that way."

"Yeah. You should talk to him, too."

"I will. I didn't mean to shut him out. I just… couldn't think straight."

"I know. He's just worried, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Cyrnarel opens the door and leads him out, heading for the coffee. "You two talk."

"Okay."

Jowan looks incredibly relieved to see them emerge, taking Jack's arm and swooping him away to the couch.

Cyrnarel stays in the kitchen for a few minutes before joining them with their coffee. Jowan looks worried, but not overly upset, and Jack is looking down at his iPad. "Hey," Jowan says. "Have a seat."

"It's gonna be fine, yeah?" Cyrnarel says, forcing a smile.

"Of course it will." Jowan squeezes Jack's arm.

Cyrnarel nods, sipping at their coffee. "Thanks for the coffee. Oh, I brought these." They put down their coffee and grab their bag, pulling out a ziplock with a few cookies in it. "You two can have some."

"Oh wow. Thanks!" Jowan says. Jack nabs the back quickly, pulling out a cookie and biting into it before Jowan’s even finished talking.

Cyrnarel chuckles. "Bull made them. I'm lucky, he's a very good baker."

"We're lucky to have friends like you."

"You're good friends, too."

Jowan smiles. "We try."

"Good! So we're over the couch problem last weekend?" Which is to say that Jack and Cyrnarel did not clean it or retrieve their clothes until well after Jowan had returned Saturday night, for which even Cyrnarel got some exasperated looks.

"…assuming it isn't repeated," he says wryly. "Honestly, between you and Zevran…"

"Oh, what'd Zevran do? Leave Jack tied up in the kitchen or some shit?"

"Oh my god. I am going to pretend you didn't say that! No, they just left a mess, because  _ none of you _ \--" He makes a wide, encircling gesture, "has any manners at all."

"You'd better teach me then," Cyrnarel says huskily, grinning and waggling their eyebrows.

"This is hopeless. You're all hopeless cases."

Cyrnarel laughs. "We'll be more mindful, don't worry."

"That's what I like to hear."

"I'll even invite you to dinner tonight."

"Wow. I'd be delighted to attend." He's pretending to be more sarcastic than he feels; he's actually quite pleased.

"Great. Seven should be good. We can pull out Uno, too."

"Oh, Jack. Jack knows how I love Uno."

"He always loses," Jack provides.

"We could play poker."

"That's worse! Uno is fine," Jowan protests, laughing.

* * *

That evening, Jack comes to find Bull in the kitchen, not wanting to awkwardly announce his news at the table. "Hi."

"Hey," Bull says, chopping fresh herbs.

"I… can I talk to you? For a second? You can keep cutting."

"Sure. You can sign if you want.”

He nods and puts his iPad down. "[I'm leaving the cafe. In a week.]"

"Found a better job?" Bull asks lightly, though he has a very strong suspicion of the truth.

"[No. I'm being deployed to Ostagar.]"

"That bad, huh?"

"[What?]" he signs, confused.

"They think it's bad enough to bring in the army?"

"[Yeah. Definitely an organized horde, though the king still doesn't believe it's a Blight.]"

"Well, shit. You told Cyrn?"

"[Yeah, Jowan called him this morning. I was… having a hard time.]"

Bull nods. "So you're gonna be gone a while."

"[Hopefully not too long, but...yeah.]"

"Good luck. You'll keep in touch?"

"[Of course. Listen--I talked to Cyrnarel already, but...will you look out for Jowan?]"

"Yeah. Wouldn't leave him on his own."

He nods. "[That makes me feel a lot better about going.]"

"Take care of yourself when you leave."

"[I'll try.]"

Bull nods, turning back to the herbs. "There's drinks in the fridge if you want some. Pull out the champagne if you like wine."

"[Beer is fine, thanks,]" he says, thinking of bubbly at Circle ceremonies and wrinkling his nose.

"Grab some for yourself and the others. Food won't be long."

"Thanks."

Cyrnarel sticks close to him during dinner and nearby for the game, though they look ready to cry even as they laugh when Jowan gets a whole bunch of cards spat out at him by the Uno machine. By the end they're looking weary, and Bull (who won the game despite a rough start) pats their shoulder sympathetically.

Jowan notices first. "Well, we should get going."

"You wanna stay here?" Bull asks Jack. "Have a nice night alone?"

"[If it's okay with Cyrnarel.]"

"Yeah," they say, nodding. "That'd be nice."

"Okay. See you tomorrow, Jowan," Jack says. 

Jowan smiles and waves. "You kids have fun."

Cyrnarel scowls but says nothing; Jowan deserved that jab. 

"See ya," Bull says, departing with him. 

Once they're gone, Cyrnarel sighs and settles into the sofa with a groan, shutting their eyes for a moment.

"Are you okay?" Jack asks.

"...Yeah, I think I am. A bit tired."

He nods. "There's no point in pretending it's good. It sucks. But it'll be okay. Right?"

"Yeah, I hope. It will." After a minute they scoot over so they can snuggle into his side.

He puts his arm around them. "Nice of Bull to let us kick him out."

"He values privacy. Er, others' privacy. Not so much his own."

"He said he'd look out for Jowan, too."

"So will I. But we'll do fine, I promise."

"I trust you."

They smile and lean up to kiss him.

"You'll take care of yourself too, right?"

"Yeah, and I got Bull to make sure of that."

"Good."

They kiss him again. "I want to spend some time with you before you leave. together. Close."

"I'd like that."

“And closer," they say, mouthing at his jaw.

"As close as you want."

* * *

The next day, Jack approaches Zevran after their shift. "Hey. Zev."

"Hello, Jack. Looking to spend some time together?"

"Sort of. I need to talk to you."

He frowns. "This sounds serious."

"It is," he says unhappily, already knowing how Zevran shies away from serious conversations.

"Ah. Well. A conversation to be had here, in the breakroom?"

"Outside is better, or my place if you want."

"Your place, then."

"Okay." He doesn't offer his arm, though he normally would.

Zevran gets the feeling that something is unusually off, so he makes light small talk during the walk, though it's strained. He's almost jittery by the time they reach Jack's place, pacing around the living room.

"Have a seat. You're making me nervous."

Zevran takes a deep breath and then sits, leg bouncing.

"Okay. I guess I'll just… say it." He sits beside Zevran, takes a breath. "I'm being deployed to Ostagar. Next week."

"...What?" Zevran blinks a few times. "They are calling in the army? You are certain?"

"Very certain; they called me, didn't they?"

"You... you are leaving, then?" Zevran deflates. "You are leaving."

"For a while, yeah. Not forever, Zev."

"It is dangerous."

"I won't be on the front line, I'm a mage. I'll be fine."

"It is still a Blight."

"Okay, so it's dangerous. But I'll be back, all the same."

Zevran takes a deep breath. "Yes, do come back. I would rather you not be gone forever."

"I will. And I'll keep in touch. You have Skype, right? We can work on your signing."

"Yes. Yes, that will do."

"And maybe I'll see Alistair down there--hey, what's going on with you two, anyway? Last time I talked to him he said you weren't really talking, and then just clammed up."

"...ah.” Zevran clears his throat. “Well. That one is personal."

"Oh. Okay."

"We are not in a bad spot, if that is your concern. Simply... things we may need to talk about."

"Okay." He leans in to kiss Zevran's cheek. "Try not to worry."

"Worry? Me? I only worry that you two will get up to some very interesting things while you are away."

"How interesting could it get? He's a virgin."

"Ah, but for how long?"

He grins. "We'll see, won't we."

"I won't be disappointed if you bring him back a very experienced lover."

"I'll do my best to train him."

Zevran laughs. "So long as you do not scare the poor man off."

"I'm not that scary, am I?"

"No, but do take things slowly. He appears to be skittish when it comes to sex."

"Well, he grew up in a Chantry boarding school, I guess it stands to reason."

"Poor man."

"I mean, I grew up in a weird home for kids no one wants too, but I at least know my way around."

"Before we know it, you two will be back and we will do more things to him than he has ever even heard of."

"That's your job. You have to come up with a bunch of fun stuff while I'm gone."

"I promise not to disappoint, ser."

"You're also in charge of dirty snaps."

"Absolutely."

"I knew I could count on you."

"You will see me for a proper goodbye, yes?" Zevran asks.

"Of course. I'm spending as much time with you and Cyrnarel and Jowan as possible. Albeit different kinds of time, for Jowan."

"Excellent. Shall we get a head start?"

"Gladly."

**Author's Note:**

> To read more of this fic, check out the google folder [here](https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/0Bw93DJ6kKxGnazl1R1c5bkVsRTg). It contains all the currently edited and published parts of the fic, plus a good deal more content. It is not fully edited, so scenes may be missing, timestamps may still remain, and dialogue tags may not be updated. 
> 
> My (Lynx) skype tag is roy.h7 and I am open to friend requests if you tell me who you are/how you found me.


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